


Game Over

by Blue_Five



Series: Teen Wolf at the Movies [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Teen Wolf AU: Aliens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliens AU - Stiles Stilinski survived a massacre on the towing vessel <i>Beacon Hill<i></i></i> over 50 years ago.  Now he's going back to the planet that spawned the xenomorph ... but this time he's taking the Colonial Marines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up

Stiles blinks when as he gradually wakes up. A nurse checks his bio-stats and smiles down at him.

“How are we today?”

“Terrible.” Stiles responds.

“Well, better than yesterday, at least.”

Stiles struggles to sit up. He looks around, disoriented. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe,” the nurse assures him. “You’re on Gateway Station. You’ve been here a couple of days. Groggy for a while, but now you’re ok. Hey, looks like you have a visitor.”

A man dressed in an expensive suit walked in carrying, of all things, an orange cat. Stiles feels his heart leap into his throat and he grins broadly as the animal is set down in his lap.

“Jonesey! How are you, you stupid cat?” Stiles smiles at the feline. “Where have _you_ been, dude?”

The man sits beside Stiles’ bed and looks at them quietly. “I suppose you two have met, then? My name is Hale … Peter Hale. I work for the company but don’t let that color your opinion of me. I’m a nice guy, actually.”

Stiles says nothing. He simply holds the cat and looks at the man with his too-smug face.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Stiles. They say the disorientation and dizziness will fade eventually … just the natural side-effects of such an unusually long hypersleep.”

Stiles frowns. “What do you mean? How long was I out there?”

Peter looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Has no one – discussed this with you yet?”

Stiles swallows and shakes his head. He pets Jonesey a little too hard and the cat mewls in protest.

“No … I mean, I don’t recognize this place,” Stiles says looking out the large picture window that shows him a spectacular view of Earth.

Peter clears his throat nervously. “Well … this may come as a shock to you.”

“How long?” Stiles asks. When Peter remains mute, Stiles frowns. “ _How long_? Please.”

“57 years.”

Stiles blinks. “Uh … what?”

“I’m afraid the number is correct, Stiles. You drifted through the core systems … it’s really just blind luck that a deep-salvage team found you when they did,” Peter explains sympathetically. “One in a thousand, really.”

Peter continues talking about odds and how fortunate Stiles is but the young man isn’t really listening anymore. He feels a strange pressure in his chest. Swallowing hard, Stiles presses a hand to his sternum. Jonesey hisses in fear and leaps from the bed. Stiles grunts as the pressure increases, feeling like an extremely bad case of heartburn at first but then growing tighter and tighter like something is sitting on his lungs … on his heart.

“ _Oh god_ …” Stiles grunts in pain.

“Are you ok?” Peter asks, confused.

Stiles falls back against the bed and cries out, “ _Fuck … oh god! No!”_

He can feel it. The thing that haunts his nightmares. The thing that took Finnstock before any of the rest of them knew what was happening. It’s inside him … pushing at his ribcage … trying to get out. Stiles flails, knocking delicate medical equipment off its mount, sending a glass crashing to the floor, sweat pouring from his skin … his back arches off the bed as the pain grows to unimaginable levels. Peter is screaming for someone to help, pressing every button he can reach.

Stiles realizes how this will end … he knows he will die, but he can’t let _it_ be born. _It_ has to die before it can escape … before it can do what it did on board the _Beacon Hill_. Before people start disappearing in screams and blood.

“ _Kill me! Kill meeeee!”_ Stiles screams as doctors and nurses flood the room, trying to hold him down, thinking he’s just seizing or having a psychotic episode.

They don’t know … they _can’t_ know … he’s got one of _them_ inside him … he’s death incarnate and they have to _end him_ … they have to make it die inside him … it _can’t_ be born …

And then it’s too late --- Stiles watches in horror as the skin on his chest expands with _something_ pushing out. Something with a hammer-shaped head, pushing and straining from within him to escape and seek darkness to grow and hunt … Stiles throws his head back and screams …

* * *

The nightmare ends with Stiles sitting straight up in bed with a shout, his hand pressed to his chest. He looks down in the darkened room. He’s got no blood on him. No sign of trauma to the skin there. He can’t feel anything moving inside him. He looks down at the sleeping cat that yawns and blinks its eyes at him, admonishing him for disturbing what was once a nice nap. Stiles sighs.

“Yeah, I know, Jonesey. Guess no one’s gonna invite me over for a sleepover any time soon, huh?”

The cat merely purrs while Stiles looks out the window and watches the Earth spin peacefully in space, free of things that go bump in the night.


	2. Marking Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the Alien franchise fans who remember this film as fondly as I do ... your encouragement is greatly appreciated.

Stiles watches the files scroll by on the display screen on one end of the conference room. He hugs his arms around himself, trying to get warm. Since he returned he feels cold all the time. Cold and tired. Behind him are the suits from the Company, the same sort of suits that ordered his father to go to a planet to ‘investigate’ a spacecraft there -- and signed his death warrant. Stiles listens to their inane babble for a moment longer before turning, amber eyes flashing.

“I don’t understand,” Stiles says tiredly. “We’ve been here for three and a half hours – how many ways do you want me to tell the same fucking story?”

Van Leuwen, the head suit, speaks calmly and reasonably. Stiles imagines him trying to maintain that calm and reasonable exterior when the thing that killed his father was standing in front of him, mouth gaping wide and the glint of another, smaller, mouth residing within. It relaxes him enough to listen to the man.

“Look at it from our perspective, please,” Van Leuwen says. “Now you freely admit to detonating the engines of, and thereby destroying, an M-Class star freighter – a rather expensive piece of hardware. _Millions_ of dollars’ worth, in fact … minus payload.” Van Leuwen crosses his hands in front of him. “The lifeboat’s flight recorder corroborates _some_ elements of your account – in that, for reasons unknown, the _Beacon Hill_ set down on LV-426, an unsurveyed planet at that time … that it resumed its course and was subsequently set for self-destruct by you for reasons unknown.”

Stiles bristles. “ _Not_ for ‘reasons unknown’ – I _told_ you. We set down there on company orders to get this thing, which destroyed my crew … and your fucking million-dollar ship.”

“The analysis team went over the lifeboat inch by inch. It found no physical evidence of the creature you describe,” Van Leuwen says almost triumphantly.

Stiles snorts in disgust and stands. “Good! That’s because I blew it out of the _fucking airlock_!” He turns to watch the files of his friends and crewmates … of his father … still scrolling on the screen. Their lives turned into brief little blurbs of training, job experience and meaningless stats. Death date is the same year for all. Stiles blinks back hot tears at his dad’s picture.

 _Miss you_ , _dad … miss you so much,_ Stiles thinks. He hears a voice talking and tunes in again.

“Are there any species like this hostile organism on LV-426?” one of the suits is asking.

A woman who should not be wearing her imitation of a man’s suit sits beside Peter Hale. She answers smugly. “No. It’s a rock. No indigenous life.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns to face the woman. “Did I.Q.’s just drop sharply while I was snoozing? Ma’am, I _told_ you already – this thing was _not_ indigenous! It was a derelict spacecraft. It was an _alien_ ship.” Stiles taps his index finger against his desk. “It was _not from there._ Do you get it? We homed in on _its_ beacon –“

The woman regards Stiles blankly. “And found something never recorded once … in over 300 surveyed worlds?” She pulls up a file. “’A creature that gestates inside a living human host and has concentrated acid for blood.”

Stiles sighs. “Look, I can see where this is going … but I’m telling you that those things exist.”

Van Leuwen nods dismissively. “Thank you, Officer Stilinski. That will be all.”

“Please … listen to me. Finnstock … he was the crewman that went into that ship … he said he saw _thousands_ of eggs there. _Thousands_.”

Van Leuwen leans forward. “ _Thank you_ … that will be all.”

“Fuck you, that’s _not_ all!” Stiles barks, jumping to his feet. “If one, just _one_ of those things gets down here, then that _will_ be all! Then all this shit that you think is so important? You can just kiss all of that good-bye!”

Stiles watches as the suits pick up their various files and walk out of the room. None of them believe him. None of them think he has a sane brain cell left in his head. Peter regards him sadly but Stiles doesn’t care. He’s lost in the thought of what waits on that planet for an unsuspecting ship like his had been. Looking over, he spots the head suit.

“Van Leuwen?” Stiles blocks the man’s path. “Why don’t you just check out LV-426?”

The man sighs. “Because I don’t have to … there have been people there for over 20 years. None of them ever complained about any hostile organism.”

Stiles feels the blood drain out of his face and extremities. “What do you mean? What _people_?”

“Terraformers. Planet engineers. They go in, set up these big atmosphere processors to make the air breathable. Takes decades. It’s what we call it a ‘shake ‘n bake’ colony.”

Stiles slams his hand into the doorjamb to keep the man put. “How many are there? How many colonists?”

Van Leuwen shrugs. “I don’t know … 60, maybe 70 families.” He looks pointedly at Stiles’ arm until the young man moves it.

Stiles stares in shock at the floor. “Families …oh God in heaven …”

* * *

Later that week, Stiles stares at the wall in his Company-assigned apartment. All things considered, the Company had gone easy since they believed him to be the sole reason they lost a million dollar payload along with a ‘very expensive ship’. He has a job doing the same damn thing every single day until he dies. The pay is just enough to survive on and no more. No hope for advancement. No hope for much of anything else. He drinks to help himself sleep with no dreams. He visits his counselor a few times a week. He keeps a loaded gun purchased just a shade on the black market side under his pillow. He has no concerns about human danger. But if one of the monsters that creeps into his dreams nightly ever appears, Stiles intends to die before it reaches him. Such was his life.

Lost in thought, Stiles jerks when the door chime rings. He blinks in surprise and somehow manages to muster up the strength to walk to the door. Opening it, he finds himself looking at Peter Hale and a sharply dressed Colonial Marine behind him.

“Hello, Stiles. This is Lieutenant Harris of the –“

Stiles shuts the door. He has no reason in any universe to want to hear what either man had to say. He wants to walk to his bed and ignore them but he hears Peter’s next words. Words that make his heart skip a few beats.

“Stiles … we’ve lost contact with the colony on LV-426.”

Stiles opens the door.

* * *

“Let me get this straight … you guys throw me to the wolves – and now you want me to go back out there?” Stiles asks while adding a little something stronger than cream to his coffee. He hands the other mugs to Hale and Harris. “Forget it. It’s not my problem.”

“Can I finish?” Peter asks.

“Nope. No way.”

“Mr. Stilinski, you wouldn’t be going out with the troops,” Lieutenant Harris explains. “I could guarantee your safety.”

Stiles snorts. Peter spoke up.

“These Colonial Marines are very tough hombres … they pack state-of-the-art firepower … there’s nothing they can’t handle,” Peter looks over at the Marine.

Harris nods. “That’s true … we’ve been trained to deal with situations like this.”

Stiles grins. “Then you don’t need me … I’m no soldier.”

“True,” Peter says. “But we don’t know exactly what has occurred … it may just be a downed transmitter. If it isn’t, I would like you to be there as an advisor … that’s all.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this; I need to go to work.”

“Right,” Peter says softly. “I heard you’re working the cargo docks – running loaders and forklifts, that sort of thing?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers. “So?”

“Oh nothing … I think it’s good you’re keeping busy. And I know it’s the only thing you could get … nothing wrong with that.”

Stiles puts on his watch and looks over at Peter. The older man has a look on his face like he has the knowledge of the universe sitting at his fingertips.

“What would you say if I told you I could get you reinstated as a flight officer?” Peter offers. “The Company has already agreed to pick up your contract.”

“If I go.”

“Yes, if you go. It’s a second chance, Stiles. I think it would be the best thing in the world.” Peter smiles broadly. “Get back out there! Face this thing and get back on the horse!”

“Spare me, Hale,” Stiles grumbles. “I’ve had my psych eval this month.”

“I know,” Peter says and stands to face Stiles. “I’ve read it. You wake up every night. Your sheets are soaking with sweat – “

Stiles rounded on the man. “I said no and I fucking mean _no_! Get the hell out of here … I’m not going back and even if I did – I’d be fucking worthless to you anyway.”

Peter nods. “Fine. Think about it. Call me.”

Peter puts his card on the table and leaves with Harris. Stiles looks at the floor and wonders which is worse – murdering aliens or plain ordinary humans holding his life in their hands.

* * *

“ _Noooo!_ ” The scream punches its way out of his lungs just like the alien he’d been dreaming of would have if he’d been caught by the face hugger. He rubs his chest helplessly for a long time, tears streaming down his face. After splashing water on his face, Stiles makes a decision. Going to his comm panel, he inserts Peter’s calling card and waits while it connects. A bleary-eyed man answers. He frowns at Stiles.

“Stiles? Are you alright?” Peter asks.

“Just tell me one thing, Hale. You’re going out there to destroy them, right? Not to study? Not to bring back? You’re going to wipe them out, right?” Stiles asks.

“That’s the plan,” Peter answers. “You have my word.”

“Fine, I’m in,” Stiles replied. He cut the line and stared at the dark screen. Glancing over at Jonesey, he smiled weakly. “Well, look at it this way, fuzzy butt…if I die, I get to meet up with mom and dad a little before schedule. Not a bad trade-off.”

Jonesey regarded the human with an unfathomable gaze and went back to sleep.


	3. Mission Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, funny how you see things differently sometimes when you watch a movie in a different headspace. Hicks takes every chance he gets to look at or watch Ripley during the scenes outlined below. Which works out awesome for Stiles and Derek!

Stiles stretches as consciousness returns. He hates the moment of coming out of hypersleep. The feeling of disorientation and grogginess always leaves him defensive and slightly fearful. His dad had solved the problem by making sure he had a familiar scent to wake up to – his pillow. But that talisman was long gone ... lost in the explosion that had claimed the _Beacon Hill_. Along with his father. Stiles sits up and steadies himself by listening to the chatter of the Marines coming to around him.

On one side, a curvaceous redhead lies with her hair neatly trimmed in military code and somehow still fashionable. Looking to his other side, Stiles feels his heart stutter when he sees the tall dark haired man that had situated himself in the sleeper unit beside his own. The woman beside him sighs.

“Ah, Derek ... always a pleasure to wake up to your smiling visage,” she says, her voice full of sweet venom.

Stiles watches green eyes look up and blink blearily at the woman. A tired roll elicits a delightful giggle from the woman and Stiles forces himself to look away, mouth dry. He pulls off the bio-sensor pads and eases out of the sleep chamber. The floor is ice-cold … the company sees no reason to heat the floor of the sleeping chambers in anticipation of the comfort of awakening sleepers. On commercial ships like the _Beacon,_ it cut into the bottom line and that was unacceptable. On the _Sulaco,_ this military vessel … well, Stiles figured it was more or less the same thing. Final line on the bill needed to be as small as possible. The Marines could bring their slippers if it bothered them. He stretches to his full height, reaching for the ceiling before looking at the oncoming sergeant. Stiles misses the way the dark-haired soldier beside him swallows hard and licks his lips at the sight of Stiles’ exposed torso.

The sergeant’s eyes glimmer slightly in the overhead lights and Stiles remembers that this soldier has had his pupils repaired with bio-ware. Sergeant Deucalion smiles but there is little humor in it as he rallies his troops with a crisp British accent.

“Alright my little sweethearts ... what are we waiting for? Breakfast in bed perhaps? Today is another glorious day in the corps!” Deucalion's voice echoes in the small chamber. “A day in the Marine Corps is like a day on the farm – every meal is a banquet! Every paycheck is veritable fortune! Every formation is a parade! By God, I _love_ the corps!”

Stiles sighs and heads out of the room to his locker. There's a reason he never joined the military. He doesn’t see the dark green eyes that follow him.

* * *

Stiles ducks around a brunette who’s got the same short hair as everyone else and is doing the fastest series of pull-ups he’s ever seen. She flashes him a blinding smile as he moves by. He misses again the look the dark-haired Marine gives him as he walks in his t-shirt and boxers to the locker assigned to him at the beginning of the trip. He ignores the banter of the other soldiers around him. Stiles just hopes all this is a mistake and his biggest nightmare isn’t about to become reality.

* * *

The Marines are a trained unit that has seen several tours together. They know each other and they trust each other … they might not like each other, but that doesn’t matter on the field. Only that the gun you need at your back is there.

Jackson Whittemore watches Allison Argent do her usual pull-ups. He admires the muscle definition. Lydia Martin, his on-again/off-again fuck-buddy joins her and Jackson’s eyes widen at the visual treat. His buddy, Danny Mahealani , laughs beside him and shakes his head.

“Hopeless, Whittemore. Hopeless.”

Jackson grins and pulls on his fatigues. “I don’t limit myself like you and Hale … _all_ the flowers need me.”

“Did you seriously just make a pollination joke?”

Jackson snickers. “Busy bee, that’s me.”

Allison glances over at Stiles as the young man dresses. She frowns and looks at Lydia while they continue their mini-workout.

“Who’s the pale-face?”

Lydia shrugs but they both turn and stand when another female voice speaks up. Erica Reyes, their dropship pilot, is pulling on her flight suit over curves many men wanted to explore. She smoothed back her blonde hair and explained.

“Supposedly he’s a consultant or something … says he saw an alien once.”

Jackson snorts. “Whoopdee-fuckin’-doo … like any of us are impressed.”

“He’s pretty,” Lydia says with a mischievous smile. Jackson’s smile falters but he recovers with a snort and roll of eyes.

Allison laughs softly amused at Lydia’s sense of humor. They are the smartgunners of the team … a partnership that requires near-complete synchronization of movement to work smoothly and accurately. Erica chuckles and shares a high-five with the other two. They are the only three women on the team but they are not treated less for their gender. Other Marine teams tease that the three badass bitches of the often-called Wolfpack unit actually had the only balls. None of the men in the Pack dispute the barbs – to a man, they all them owe their lives to the three for one reason or another. Jackson teases Lydia and gets a playful smack to the cheek that makes him grin again. The teasing goes on and no one notices the young man slip out of the locker room. No one but a certain green-eyed Marine.

* * *

In the mess hall, Stiles gets a cup of coffee and sits at the table with Lieutenant Harris and Peter Hale. He hears the raucous outbursts from behind him. A glance over his shoulder shows a younger man Stiles had noticed earlier playing a game of pinfinger with the Marines. The young man has his hand over Jackson’s and he begins slowly before picking up a faster rhythm. Stiles smiles faintly at the rising shout from Jackson. He turns back to his breakfast and glances over as the young man sits at their table. Stiles is sipping on his coffee when Peter says something.

“Ah, young Scott … I thought you never missed,” Hale comments.

Stiles looks over and feels his blood freeze in his veins. A thin line of milky white fluid squeezes from a cut on the young man’s … not young man … _android_ ’ _s_ fingers. Stiles jerks back and looks at Peter accusingly.

“You _never_ said there was an android on board! Why not?!” Stiles barks.

Peter flushes red and looks distinctly uncomfortable. “I – I honestly never thought about it, Stiles. There’s always a synthetic on board for missions like this.”

Scott looks over. “We prefer the term ‘artificial person’

Peter nods. “Right.”

“Is there a problem?” Scott asks innocently.

“Yes … uh, Stiles’ last trip out … the syn—artificial person malfunctioned. There were, um, deaths and a few deaths involved,” Peter explains.

Scott blinks and looks at Stiles in shock. “I’m really surprised to hear that. Was it an older model?”

“Yes, Hyperdyne Systems 120-A2,” Peter replies.

“Oh … that explains it then. The A2s always were a little ‘twitchy’,” Scott turns to Stiles. “You know that couldn’t happen now, right? Our behavioral inhibitors won’t allow me to harm or, by omission of action, allow to _be_ harmed, a human being.”

Scott offers Stiles the cornbread that the human slams out of his hand. “’Scott’ is it? You just stay away from me … got it?”

Scott looks at Stiles for a moment and then nods. He gets up and leaves immediately. Stiles stares at his eggs. This mission just got better and better.

* * *

In the hanger, the Marines gather in a loose-knit group to be debriefed. Stiles stands with Harris, Hale and Deucalion. He feels small and out of place amidst the better built bodies of the Marines. And every time he looks back, he sees the dark-haired Marine with green eyes watching him intently. It was unnerving, but Stiles couldn’t say he didn’t like it. Harris clears his throat and starts his speech.

“Morning, Marines. Sorry we didn’t have time to brief you people before we left Gateway – “

“Sir?” Jackson asks.

“What is it Hale?” Harris snaps.

“Whittemore, sir,” Jackson corrects. He jerks his thumb beside him at Derek. “He’s Hale.”

Stiles frowns and glances over at Peter. The older man nods slightly. “Over-eager nephew … but I suppose if this is what makes him happy …” Peter says disdainfully.

Stiles raises his eyebrows but he smiles.

_Good for you, handsome_ , Stiles thinks. He looks up and the inscrutable green eyes are watching him steadily. This time he holds the look until the man glanced away to what Jackson was asking.

“Sir,” Jackson continues. “Is this gonna be a stand-up fight, sir, or just another bug-hunt?”

Harris purses his lips. “All we know is that there’s still no contact with the colony and that a xenomorph may be involved.”

Jackson frowns. “Excuse me, sir … a _what_?”

Lydia looks over her shoulder. “It’s a bug hunt.”

Derek speaks for the first time in Stiles’ presence. The young man finds the voice goes straight to a part of him he doesn’t really want to be introducing to this crowd. “What exactly are we dealing with here?”

Harris looks over. “Stiles?”

Stiles clears his throat and looks nervously at the Marines. They’d seen more death than him for certain … what he thought, however, was that they had not seen the _type_ of death he had.

“I’ll … uh, I’ll tell you what I know,” Stiles begins softly. “We set down on LV-426 … one of our crew members – Finnstock – was brought back on board with _something_ attached to his face … some kind of parasite,” Stiles licks his lips and looks around nervously. He lands on Hale’s calm face and feels something shift. The green eyes were calm and encouraging. The man _believes_ what he’s saying – he takes Stiles’ report seriously. “We tried to get it off but no success. After a while, it just seemed to sort of fall off and die. Finnstock looked fine … then we were having dinner and he—he – it must have laid some sort of embryo in his chest. He started – uh …”

Stiles sees the light dimming in several eyes. He was _boring_ them. He couldn’t even believe that … if they only knew what he’d seen when Finnstock fell back on the table and screamed as the thing had torn its way out of his chest. Allison sighs.

“Look … all any of us need to know is where to shoot,” she says, bored.

Lydia smiles and they share a quick hand-clasp. “You’re the deadshot, darling.”

“Anytime, anywhere,” Allison assures her friend.

“As long as she doesn’t break a nail,” Jackson teases.

Allison flips him off over her shoulder. “Fuck you, Jackson.”

“Anytime, anywhere, darling,” Jackson says gleefully. He smirks at the cold look Lydia shoots him.

“Are you finished?” Stiles barks

Derek looks up. The voice of the nervous young man changes. It's colder … harsher and definitely less forgiving of their playful bullshitting. Derek’s eyes narrow as he takes in the suddenly squared shoulders and the hard look Stiles directs at the soldiers.

“Look … I hope you’re right. I really fucking hope you’re right,” Stiles says flatly. “Because just one of those … _bugs …_ managed to wipe out a crew of six in less than 24 hour. I’m the only one who lived. The others … it tore them to pieces … the ones that it didn’t … _keep_. I put a bullet in my own father’s head to keep whatever happened to Finnstock from happening to him. So I hope you’re fucking right and it’s just a broken transmitter and you all just wasted your time coming out here.”

Harris nods. “This is all on the main db, so study it. Yes, private?” Harris asks, nodding toward Jackson.

“How do I get outta this organization … sir?” Jackson sneers.

Harris bristles and Derek sighs. The brash young man probably just bought them a hell of a lot of work. He was not proven wrong.

“Alright,” Harris says. “I want this thing to go smooth … by the numbers. I want D.C.S. and tactical database assimilation by 0830. Ordinance loading, weapons strip and drop-ship prep details will have seven hours. Now move out!”

Deucalion moves into the space Harris vacates as he stalks off. “Alright, darlings … you heard the man and you know the drill – asshole and elbows! Jackson, get over here!”

* * *

Stiles walks into the dock after cooling his heels in the small bunk he’d been allotted. He needs to do something … to contribute or he was going to lose his mind. He walks up to Sergeant Deucalion who was discussing something with Hale. He kept his gaze as professional as he could.

“Hey,” Stiles began. “I’m, uh, feeling like a fifth wheel here. Is there anything I can do?”

Deucalion looks at the young man. “I don’t know, son … is there anything you _can_ do?”

Stiles smirks and looked over Deucalion’s shoulder. “I can run that loader. I’ve got a Class 2 rating.”

Deucalion and Derek share a look. “Please,” Deucalion says. “Be my guest.”

Stiles walks over to the Caterpillar P-5000 Powered Work Loader. He’d cut his teeth on the older versions of these years ago with his dad and had been using them since his return planet side. He slides into the machine and buckles in the harness. Locking down the roll cage, Stiles powers up the system and preps the machine for use. He thumbs the controls until he finds the loader’s center and checks the movements of the forks and hands. Stiles proceeds to stomp gracefully across the deck to the nearest container. Sliding the forks into position, he easily lifts the container and swings it to look at Deucalion and Derek.

“Where’d you want it?” Stiles asks smugly.

Deucalion laughs out loud. He gestures. “Bay 12, please.”

Stiles walks off with the container to the appropriate bay. This time, he did not miss the broad, amused smile that shines across Corporal Hale’s face. He feels his heart flutter a little. Just a little. Maybe this would be a boring mission of repairing a broken antennae. Maybe he could get to know the corporal a little better. Maybe.


	4. Witnesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love all my fans for this one ... things are getting creepy ...

Stiles watches silently as the drop ship prep goes forward. He clenches one hand into a fist repeatedly, trying to stave off the shakes or an all-out panic attack. The android – Scott, drives the troop carrier into the ship. Stiles does not return the smile Scott flashes him. The last android he'd had the misfortune to meet – Gerard – had pretty much killed any desire he had to trust another one. Ever.

A noise catches his attention and Stiles turns to see the Marines, now fully outfitted in body armor and weapons, run out to the 'ready line'. Stiles notes with no little appreciation how well Corporal Hale filled out his armor. He sighs internally.

_I must be completely insane, dad,_ Stiles thinks to his late father.  _I'm back_ _ here _ _ ... I'm going back to  _ _ that _ _ place ... to where it all went so fucking wrong. God I hope I'm wrong ...  _ _ please _ _ let me be wrong, dad.  _

Deucalion walks the line of his soldiers. He growls contentedly. “Absolutely brilliant! Pack it in!”

Deucalion opens the vehicle door and the Marines pile into the vehicle. Each knows his place and slides into it ... gone are the teasing, insulting children of before ... here, they have purpose and design. Here, in this world, they are all equal and they all back one another. Weapons are stowed, roll cages locked in place. Stiles sits toward the front, out of the way with Peter. He glances down the line and catches a pair a green eyes watching him until Jackson's body obscures his view. He tries not to blush from the animal heat he saw looking at him.

Jackson walks the line of his companions, talking trash and building their egos. He's good at that ... he ramps up the adrenaline and prepares his fellow soldiers for battle. He smirks when he steps in front of Derek because he knows what the corporal is looking at – the new kid on the block. He smacks Derek playfully on the helmet.

“Down, boy,” Jackson teases. “You can get all up in that after we're done showing him there isn't anything under the bed.”

Derek growls but he's smiling when he does it ... he fully intends to be 'all up in that' as soon as he can alright. The kid is gorgeous and he doesn't allow his fear to paralyze him ... Derek wants to know exactly what  _ will _ paralyze him, but in a far more sexual way that'll probably leave both of them gasping for air. Yep ... he'll enjoy taking his time getting to know one Stiles Stilinski.

Harris sits in the command center chair and slides back and forth checking the vitals readouts and helmet cams. Erica's voice comes across the helmets as she does her prelaunch check.

“Stand by ... cross-locking now. Prelaunch auto cycle engaged,” Erica announces as the ship is raised over the open airlock. “Primary couplers released. Hit the internals.”

Erica's voice is steady, calm, almost bored. Her team know that when they are on the drop ship, their lives are in her hands. It's no easy task and her calmness comforts them. If she's worried, her team will never know. 

Stiles swallows hard. He knows what's coming, he's studied the requirements for a drop ... still doesn't mean he's going to enjoy falling from orbit into a planet's atmosphere. He looks over and realizes the green burning gaze is back on him. He blushes but doesn't look away. Stiles thinks a faint hint of amusement darkens the eyes.

“Stand-by. Ten seconds.” Erica says as she flexes her hands. “Stand by to initiate release sequencer ... on my mark.”

Stiles swallows again. The countdown begins and he fights down the panic. He focuses on a spot on the deck and clears his mind while listening to the pilot's voice. 

“Five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... mark.” 

Stiles winced as he slammed back into his seat with the sudden g-force. He hears Jackson whooping along with the others. He keeps his eyes shut until the flight levels out with the use of the drop ship's boosters.

“Switch to D.C.S. Ranging,” Vernon Boyd's voice drifts across the headset

“240 nominal to profile,” Erica replies. “We're in the pipe. Five by five.”

Stiles hears the pride in the pilot's voice and he understands it completely. He could fly just about anything and probably even the drop ship ... but every single flight came with risks, no matter how small or familiar. Erica had reason to be proud of her ability and Stiles knows her team is aware of it. It's a familiar routine that makes him calm a little bit more. This is familiar ground for him ... what is coming is not and never will be.

Boyd warns, “We're picking up some hull ionization.”

Erica sighs. “Got it. Rough air ahead. We're in for some chop.”

Stiles grips his armrest a little tighter but says nothing. As it begins to even out again, he looks over at Harris.

“How many drops is this for you, Lieutenant?” 

Harris looks over with a hard swallow. “Thirty-eight. Simulated.”

Lydia frowns and looks over. “How many combat drops?”

“Uh ... two. Including this one,” Harris replies.

Lydia looks astounded and rolls her eyes. She looks over at Allison who shakes her head in disbelief. Jackson snorts. Even Peter and Stiles share a look. Derek makes no comment ... he's sound asleep.

* * *

Stiles watches the monitors as the ship approaches the colony. A pyramid-like structure appears out of the mist. It seems odd to Stiles to be looking at such obvious signs of life and technology here when it seems like only months ago that he was looking over desolate wasteland. He shivers at the mental comparison.

Looking over the screen, he asks, “That's the atmosphere processor?”

“Yes,” Peter replies. “Remarkable piece of machinery. Completely automated – we manufacture those by the way.”

Stiles snorts and looks over his shoulder at the company man. Some things, Stiles decides, will never change. He hopes again that everything will be ok. He hopes.

* * *

The team disperses neatly and with a practiced  pattern. Stiles watches the monitors with his fists tucked tightly against his body under each arm. He sees little sign of habitation around the complex. Even with the inclement weather, there should be people moving about. Operating machines remotely. There should still be  _ life _ .

Allison is the first person into the complex and her camera shows a long corridor with metal grid decking and standard pop and lock walls. Utilitarian, not for pretty. Much like the corridors on the  _ Beacon _ . Stiles frowns at the debris scattered around and the water he can see streaming into the building from above. Something happened. Stiles knows it was nothing good.

“Sir? You copying this?” Deucalion's voice comes across soft but clear. “Looks like hits from small-arms fire ... perhaps some explosives damage. Looks like seismic survey charges. Keep it tight, people.”

Harris squints at the screen then orders, “Hale, Whittemore, use your motion trackers.”

Derek and Jackson unsling their trackers and begin watching the radar ping as they walk, covered by other team members. The soft puff-pop sound creates an unsettling background to their progress because that is all they hear – no high-pitched ping indicating movement of  _ anything _ alive. Derek voices his unease.

“Nothing ... not a fucking thing.”

Stiles exhales slowly. He guesses what has happened, but maybe they were successful. Maybe somehow the colonists managed to outwit the aliens. Stiles wishes he actually believed the possibility.

“Quarter and search by twos,” Harris orders.

The Marines pair off and Lydia's camera leads them into a series of rooms. Stiles blinks as he sees the wind blowing through shattered windows. Stiles can imagine all too well what came through the glass. When he sees Derek's camera pan over a half full cup of coffee and a donut missing a single bite, he  _ knows _ .

Derek looks around and he moves toward a roughly set up barrier. Stiles' eyes dart everywhere, trying to take in as much detail of the damage as he can when he sees it.

“Wait ... tell him to – fuck,” Stiles grabs a headset and tries again. “Hale ...  back up, pan right ... there.”

Derek looks down and Lydia comes up behind him to look down as well. Holes dot the metal deck-plates. The metal along the edges is deformed and twisted. 

“Are you seeing this, lieutenant?” Derek asks, looking into Lydia's camera. “Looks melted. Somebody must have bagged one of Stiles' bad guys here.”

Stiles looks back at Peter who mouths, “Acid for blood.”

Stiles doesn't feel any joy at being right, unfortunately.

“If you like that,” Jackson says looking into Allison's camera. “You're gonna love this.”

Looking up, Allison captures a massive hole in the ceiling. Stiles blanches, remembering when they learned just how volatile the acid carried by the creatures was – how quickly it ate through five decks before losing potency before reaching the outer hull. That had only been a few drops from a facehugger ... this penetration is big enough to allow a man to climb through from the ground levels below them to the roof of the complex. A full-grown alien had perished here and God help anything that was between its blood and the ground. Jackson leans over and spits, watching his phlegm fall into the darkness. Allison casually bumps him, enjoying his rapid backpedal.

“Quit screwin' around, Argent!”

Deucalion sighs. “Second squad, what's your status?”

Derek replies. “We just finished our sweep, nobody's home.”

“That's it,” Deucalion says quietly. “Sir, this place is dead. Whatever happened here ... I do believe we missed it.”

Harris nods. “Alright, area's secure. Let's go in and see what their computer can tell us.”

Stiles turns in shock. “Uh, what? Wait a sec, it's not  _ secure _ \--”

“The area is secure, Stilinski,” Harris says dismissively. “First team, head for operations. Whittemore, see if you can get their main server back online.”

“Aye-ffirmative,” Jackson replies.

“Hale, meet me at the south lock. We're coming in,” Harris orders.

“Roger,” Derek replies.

Jackson rolls his eyes and covers his mic with one hand. “He's coming in ... I feel safer already.”

Allison returns the eye-roll. “Asshole.”

* * *

Stiles follows Peter and Harris into the building and through to the area just explored by the Marines. He sees signs of people trying to survive something they had no idea how to defend against. Lydia approaches Harris and reports.

“Sir, they barricaded this corridor at both ends ... welded the doors and blocked off the stairs with heavy equipment,” Lydia says.

Deucalion nods. “Looks like the barricade didn't hold.”

“Any bodies?” Harris asks.

“No sir,” Lydia answers. 

Stiles walks past objects that have no business in a main corridor --- bed frames, file cabinets, desks, chairs --- anything metal that could be welded together has been thrown together. Behind him, Mahealani mutters, “Last stand.”

“Must have been a hell of a fight,” Lydia agrees.

Stiles thinks she's underestimating how desperate a fight it had been. He follows her into the medlab, his heart hammering in his chest. The rooms are in fairly good order. Stiles knows that whatever took them moved so fast there wouldn't have been time for crashing about. No ... that had been reserved for the outer corridor. Here, they were trying to figure out what they were fighting against. Here, they were learning they were well and truly fucked. Lost in his thoughts, Stiles fails to see the specimen tubes until he's almost on top of them. He freezes and Derek walks right into him. Stiles' breathing quickens and he fights hard not to lose it. He can't lose it, not now ... not after everything.

In preservative-filled tubes float horrific examples of the thing that had ended Finnstock's life on the _Beacon_ and sent a death knell for the rest of the crew. The facehuggers are white and putrid-looking. Stiles knows they move with an evil life of their own when free. Derek's hand falls gently on his shoulder and he jumps but relaxes when he hears a deep, soft voice in his ear. “We got your back, Stiles ... let me run point.”

Derek moves easily past the young man and into the room. He sweeps with weapon and eyes, his nose wrinkling at the awful things. He believed Stiles' story before, but this cements it. Everything the young man said was true – Derek resists looking back at Stiles. He's amazed and, for some odd reason, proud of the kid. He survived something that apparently an entire colony couldn't ... Derek hopes this is the only evidence they find of the aliens Stiles described. He suddenly doesn't want to know any more about them.

Peter looks at the facehuggers and glances back at Stiles. “Are those the same ones that --?”

Stiles nods.  Peter continues his walk and leans in close to one of the tubes.

Horrified, Stiles warns, “ _Careful_ , Peter!”

Peter rolls his eyes and continues to examine the last tube on his row. Suddenly, the thing inside shifts and presses its mouth to the glass, straining to get to the host it knows is just beyond the barrier. Peter jumps back a foot while Derek grins. 

“Looks like love at first sight ... _uncle_ ,” Derek sneers. “He really likes you.”

Stiles tries to keep his meager breakfast down while he watches a slender tube-like appendage press to the glass. The muscular tail whips and twists around empty space. Stiles remembers the way that tail tightened around Finnstock's neck. His hand creeps unconsciously to his own neck.

On another row, Scott examines the other tubes and reports, “Two alive, the rest are dead.” Scott looks at a medical file. “Surgically removed before embryo implantation. Subject: Marachek, John J. died during procedure. They killed him getting it off.”

Stiles thinks back to when they tried removing the facehugger from Finnstock. His vitals had been all over the place ... the thing had created a temporary symbiotic connection to ensure the host's survival. It had not wanted to let go. 

A faint beeping sound drifts into the room followed by a shout from Danny. “Yo, Hale! I think we got something here.”

Derek looks down at the tracker. “Behind us.”

“One --- one of us?” Stiles asks.

Deucalion, where are your people? Anyone in D block?” Harris asks.

“Negative, we're all in Operations.”

Stiles suddenly feels his heart in this throat. “Oh god ...”

Derek's hand is on his shoulder again and he looks into the sharp emerald gaze. “Got your back, ok?”

Stiles nods. Derek moves out to point with Lydia. As much as he is coming to like the corporal, Stiles wishes somehow being surrounded by Marines with heavy weapons made him feel safer. He really wishes he'd stayed home with the cat.


	5. Survivor

Lydia steps in front of Danny. Her weapon drifts with the movement of her body like an extension of her. Stiles is impressed but only slightly – he's busy trying to avoid losing what little he holds in his stomach.

“Talk to me, little Danny,” Lydia says softly.

Danny glances at the tracker. “Just keep moving, gorgeous.”

Stiles walks behind Derek whose rifle is also at the ready. Stiles hates this … he’s too close to something he doesn’t want to imagine. He’s supposed to be safe … not out in the field. Harris promised him that. Stiles figures he should have realized. When money is involved, people like the ones that run the Company tend to forget promises. Tend to forget that they are human and owe their fellow humans the decency of telling them they are sharing a planet with a deadly alien species.

Stiles fights to keep his panic in control. He tries not to listen to the steady pinging of the motion tracker when Harris bumps a table and something heavy goes spinning to the floor. Stiles nearly leaps to the ceiling. He glares at Harris along with the rest of the Marine team. They continue after a moment.

“Where's it moving?” Derek asks.

Danny glances down at the tracker readout again. “It's coming straight for us ... straight up.”

Stiles swallows hard. He doesn't know what he will do if the thing that haunts his dreams appears. Something unmanly … like running. He remembers running a lot on the _Beacon_. He remembers running down long, claustrophobic hallways without even being able to see what he was running _from_. Stiles bites his lower lip hard.

_Dad … please don’t let it be that … please …_

The team emerges into the hallway and the beeping becomes louder. Stiles knows the higher the pitch, the closer the object. It sounds like it's only feet away. He feels tremors begin to travel his frame.

_No no no ... not a panic attack. Not now. Bad bad timing. Not now._

When a shadow went dancing across the corridor, Stiles thought he might lose the fight with himself. Lydia fired flawlessly, but Derek's rifle was suddenly redirecting the fire up and away leaving Lydia furious and the rest of them confused.

“What the _hell_ are you doing, Hale?!?” Lydia screeches.

“Hold up,” Derek says, calm in the face of her rage. He glances over his shoulder and Stiles realizes the man is looking directly at him. “Stilinski ... get up here.”

Stiles moves forward tentatively. What could Derek _possibly_ want to show him? The larger man is almost ... _smiling_? Stiles crouches down and looks behind the grating on the sides of the corridor. Scott brings a strong beam flashlight and illuminates what looks like a little girl, Asian descent. Her dark eyes are wide with fear. Stiles immediately knows he’s looking at the only survivor on LV-426.

“Hey,” Stiles says softly. “Hey ... it's alright ... it's ok.”

Derek reaches in as far as he can trying to grab the child. Harris sighs in irritation. “Just _grab_ her, Corporal.”

The girl holds a dilapidated doll's head in her hand. Her hair is a rat's nest of tangles and Stiles guesses she hasn't seen running water in a while. He feels badly about her fear.

“It's ok ... no one is gonna hurt you ... promise,” Stiles says. “It's alright ... come on out. Come on.”

Stiles has never really been around children but he remembers how the nurses and such would talk to him when he lost his mom. He was probably the same age as this girl. Their soft tones kept him from panicking too often. He hopes Derek can reach her.

Derek manages to snag the girl's arm. “Got her!” He then releases a bellow of pain as the girl bites him ... hard.

“Don't let her go!” Stiles yelps.

The shadow darts under the walkway and they all dash around like lunatics trying to catch her. Stiles grows steadily more frustrated as the girl dashes just out of reach. Soon she'll find her exit and they'll never catch her. Stiles sees her headed for an air ventilation duct and no one can reach her in time.

“Damn it!” Stiles yells.

He grabs the flashlight out of Scott's hands and dives for the duct. He's just slender enough to fit. The girl tries to put the grate in place before he can push into her hiding spot, but Stiles is stronger and tumbles into a small maintenance area within the duct system for the colony. He stares in shock around himself. Boxes of instant food, beverages, water containers and other deitrus fill the small space. A huge fan turns overhead, bringing fresh air into the space. It’s a perfect place to hide. Out of sight, fresh air, defensible, although Stiles doesn’t doubt that if the things wanted in they would find a way – he’s deeply impressed and saddened at the same time. No little girl should have survival skills most of the hardened soldiers outside haven’t even developed. The little girl presses back into a corner, watching Stiles warily.

“It’s ok,” Stiles offers. “It’s alright. It’s ok … see?”

The girl’s eyes dart sideways and she makes a dash for the next duct. Stiles is grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back.

“Hey! Wait! It’s ok! You’re gonna be alright!” Stiles cries.

The girl quiets eventually and goes limp in Stiles’ arms. He sighs and looks around for some sign of who she is … then he spots it. A framed picture of the little girl wearing a very pretty floral dress and smiling into the camera with her dark hair carefully braided. A tag on the frame says “Second Grade Citizenship Award – Kira Yukimura”. The girl in the photo looks completely different from the one in his grasp. The photo shows a moment before she found out that monsters are real – Stiles knows that moment in his life too. Before something that could not have been created by God appeared in his life and tore it to pieces with claws and teeth and a dark, inhuman intelligence.

* * *

Stiles walks over to the windows as Derek lowers the shielding shutters. Most of the colony complexes were visible from their location. He glances shyly at Derek who returns the look with a sultry smile. Stiles blushes and then shakes his head at the gray sky.

“Not like home,” he mutters.

“It would have been … few more years with the atmosphere processors and the weather systems would change. Eventually they’d be able to start altering the soil makeup and prepare it to take plant-life – little more than another twenty-five years, you’d have a planet pretty damn close to Earth,” Derek says, looking at the same dull clouds.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you know a thing or two about terraforming … _Corporal_.”

It was Derek’s turn to look shy. “My family business … they’d come in and set the processors up, train the colonists on maintenance and such, then leave. I traveled a lot as a kid.”

“So what made you join up?” Stiles asks. “Family business seems pretty secure.”

Derek falls silent. “Long story,” he says, his gaze shadowing.

Stiles mentally kicks himself for always plowing ahead at warp speed. Derek looks back up, however.

“Long story but I might be tempted to tell it over a beer or two after this mission,” Derek says with a soft smile that melts Stiles’ resolve.

“Uh … um, yeah … yeah, that sounds … I’d like that, Corporal,” Stiles replies.

“Derek.”

“Hmm?”

“Name’s Derek … you don’t have to call me Corporal outside of the mission. You know, unless you want to?” Derek offers with a teasing look.

“Do I have to salute?” Stiles asks, returning the grin.

Derek leans close after a quick glance at who was nearby. “I think I might actually like to see that … could be hot.”

Stiles swallows and knows he’s probably blushing so hard he glows. “Heh … uh … wow, um … oh, hey, I gotta go see about Kira. Looking … yeah, looking forward to after … all this.”

Stiles walks off before he can look any more like an idiot. Derek watches him. He doesn’t look over when Jackson moves to his side.

“Little bit on the thin side, isn’t he?” Whittemore observes.

“Pretty damn sure he can hold his own,” Derek replies. “You managed.”

Jackson grunts at Derek’s reference to their once-upon-a-time liaison. “Asshole, I was in way better shape than that.”

“Yes, Jackson … you’re still the prettiest ass in the team,” Derek teases, walking off toward the bank of computer consoles.

Danny looks over as he walks to see about Kira’s vitals and medical condition. “I heard that … mine is far prettier.”

Jackson and Derek laugh and go on to the next part of their job – finding the colonists. Derek watches Stiles re-enter the room with a bottle of water, a mug of something hot and a washcloth. He makes a beeline for the little girl and Derek feels something tug in his chest. He sees signs of a big heart in the young man -- a survivor’s heart. Derek decides he’s really going to enjoy getting to know Stilinski better when this nonsense is over.


	6. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patient wait!

Stiles watches as Danny gently checks Kira over. The little girl remains still and quiet. Stiles guesses she learned the sound and movement told the monsters where you were ... he knows he did.

“What's her name again?” Harris asks.

“Kira,” Stiles responds.

“Now think, Kira ... concentrate,” the man says, standing over Kira who doesn't look at him. “Just start at the beginning ... where are your parents? Look ... you've got to try and help ...”

“Harris ... give it a rest, why don't you?” Stiles says with a look.

Harris frowns and then looks dismissively at the girl. “Total brain-lock.”

_More like you've got brain-lock, _ Stiles thinks.

Danny begins to pack up. “Physically, she's okay. Borderline malnutrition but I don't think there's any permanent damage.”

“Come on,” Harris said to Danny. “We're wasting our time.”

Danny rolls his eyes at Stiles behind Harris' back and they share a smile. Danny smirks at the dark look Derek gives him once he's out of the consultant's earshot.

“Whatsa matter, Hale? Jealous?”

Derek shrugs. “If Ethan doesn't mind sharing you, why should I care?”

Danny blanched. “Hey, I'm just messin' with you ...”

Lydia and Allison chuckle along with Jackson who's situated himself at a computer console and is scrolling through site blueprints. Derek looks over at Stiles and his gaze softens as he watches the interaction.

* * *

Stiles holds a small mug to Kira's lips. “Hey, try this ... it's a little hot chocolate. Man, I used to love this stuff when I was a kid ... my dad always threw in the little marshmallows but I couldn't find any.”

If Kira minds Stiles' babbling, she doesn't make any indication. She sips but then her mouth falls slack. 

“Whoops ... that good, huh?” Stiles says as he pulls the mug away. “Yeah, that instant stuff blows ... here, let me get that ...”

Stiles wipes the chocolate drips away and then smiles gently. “Uh-oh ... made a clean spot ... did it now ... gonna have to do the whole thing.”

Stiles wets the cloth and begins to remove layers of grime. He smiles. “Pretty little girl under all this,” Stiles says easily. “Quiet type, huh? Don't blame you.”

Kira's dark eyes stare into the distance. Stiles can only imagine what they see.

* * *

Jackson's eyes dance over the display before him. Derek sits beside him on one side and Peter on the other. Harris comes up to look over his shoulder.

“Smoking or non-smoking?” Jackson asks lightly without looking up.

Harris purses his lips. “Just tell me what you're looking for, private.”

“P.D.T.'s”  Peter replies. At Harris' confused look, he elaborates. “Personal Data Transmitters – every colonist had one surgically implanted.”

Jackson nods. “If they're within 20 klicks, we'll read it out here. So far ... zip.”

Derek frowns. How did so many people just disappear?

* * *

Stiles finishes his impromptu sponge bath of Kira. He sighs. “I don't know how you managed to stay alive, but you are one brave kid, Kira.”

“Kit- Kat .”

Stiles looks up at the faint whisper.

“What did you say?”

“Kit- Kat ... my name's Kit-Kat. Nobody calls me Kira except my parents.”

“Kit-Kat ... I like it.” Stiles  says.

Stiles brushes her hair back from her face.

“I'm Stiles. Nice to meet you,” Stiles says. He lifts one hand where Kit-Kat has held some bedraggled something since they found her. “What ... or who ... is this?”

Kit-Kat holds up a tiny toy fox. “Kitsu.”

Stiles smiles at the little animal. “Hello, Kitsu. That's, uh ... 'fox' in Japanese, right?” Stiles  asks, frowning  while he tries to  remember his hyper-sleep lessons. Kit-Kat nods and a tiny smile plays on her lips before vanishing.

“ So, Kit-Kat ... any brothers? Sisters?”

The little girl shakes her head silently. Stiles nods.

“Are your parents around here? Hiding like you?”

Kit-Kat chews her lip but doesn't respond.

“Hey, Kit-Kat ... look at me. Where are your folks?”

Dark eyes meet his defiantly. “They're dead, alright? Can I go now?”

Stiles sighs. “I'm sorry, Kit-Kat. Don't you think you'd be safer here with us?”

Kit-Kat shakes her head. Stiles feels a cold spot begin in his stomach.

“These people are here to help ... they're soldiers,” Stiles tries to explain. 

Solemnly, Kit-Kat looks at Stiles as if she's aware he's trying to convince himself of a truth he knows is not there. “It won't make any difference.”

Stiles finds himself believing her.

* * *

“Bow before your god!” Jackson cries out. “Found 'em!”

Derek rolls his eyes. Jackson's a great lay but his ego leaves little to be desired sometimes. Still, besides Danny, Jackson's the best computer tech they have and now they have a target for this seemingly worthless mission.

“ Alive?” Harris asks.

Jackson studies the tiny dots on the screen and shakes his head. “Unknown ... but it looks like all of them less the kid out there.” He zooms in. “Over at the processing station, Sublevel 3 ... under the main cooling towers.”

Derek frowns. The dots are packed close, some look like they might be sitting in each others laps. “Looks like a fucking town meeting ... why are they all bunched up like that?”

Jackson shrugs. “Gotta be a cramped space, that many bodies ... probably hiding out from whatever ... squished up together. Maybe?”

Derek meets the private's gaze. He sees doubt and a little bit of uneasiness there. Jackson is unnervingly accurate in a firefight. Derek trusts his instincts. He clamps a hand tightly down on the soldier's shoulder as Harris smugly dictates.

“Saddle up, Duke.”

“Aye, sir.” Deucalion replies. He turns to his team. “Alright, let's go people ... we aren't being paid by the hour.”

* * *

They drive to the substation. Stiles watches on the monitors as the Marines deploy again. This time, his attention is a bit more focused on Hale's life-stats display. He finds himself thinking about the dark green eyes more than he'd like, considering the circumstances.

_ Let it be nothing, dad ... just scared colonists who maybe ran into a few of these things. Let it be nothing _ , Stiles thinks desperately.

Kit-Kat sits quietly with her fox. Stiles has no doubt her silence and knowledge of those ducts saved her life. That and she's a little ball of awesome. Stiles thinks he'd like to have a kid like her some day.

Harris quietly speaks his orders. “I want a straight “v” deployment, second team on left flank.”

Stiles tunes out the rest of the Marine deployment mumbo-jumbo. Lydia and Allison slide their weapons around like they're greased. Everyone is back in battle mode. Jackson's casual banter is silent as he takes point and studies the tracker signal. Derek brings up the rear, his eyes and ears tracking every sound and sight.

“Nice and easy, lads and ladies,” Deucalion orders. “check those corners ... check those corners.”

“Watch your spacing,” Harris says.

Deucalion nods. “You heard the man,  don't bunch up ... stay loose.”

Harris frowns at his display. “Your transmission is showing a lot of break-up.”

Jackson explains. “Probably getting interference from the structure.”

“Use your lights, children!” Deucalion calls.

A scene plays across the screen suddenly that makes Stiles' blood feel like ice. He only saw a small part of it before ... there was, after all, only one of them on the  _ Beacon _ . The walls look like they were designed in  a biomechanical nightmare. What look like the knobs of a spine run along the upper surface of the corridor. It's like nothing human.

Derek's camera dances over what he's seeing and Stiles' knows the corporal is getting nervous. All the Marines are on edge based on their lifesigns. Stiles doesn't blame them. If he was with them, he thinks he'd be fucking unable to walk.

“Watch your fire, all. Check your targets ... remember we are looking for civilians here,” Deucalion reminds his team. He knows they are walking a razor thin wires and he wants no friendly-fire incidents.

Boyd snaps off a frozen line of whatever is coating the wall. “Looks like a secreted resin.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees. “But secreted from  _ what _ ?”

Stiles hopes they don't find out but his hope is growing very very thin. He listens to the complaints of humidity and heat before glancing over the blueprint scans again.

“Lieutenant, what do those pulse rifles fire?” Stiles asks.

“Ten millimeter explosive-tip caseless,” Harris replies. “Standard light armor-piercing round. Why?”

Stiles swallows. “Well, look where your team is ... right under the primary heat exchangers.”

Harris frowns. “So?”

“So if they fire their weapons in there, won't they rupture the cooling system?” Stiles asks patiently.

“So? So what?” Harris demands.

Peter, listening from behind, walks up with a deep frown. “He's right ... look, this whole station is basically a big fusion reactor. So you're talking about a thermonuclear explosion – good-night everyone.”

Harris stares at his screens in disbelief. “Great ... wonderful. Fucking wonderful.”

Stiles shares a look with Peter that says,  _ This guy is in charge? _

Harris taps his comm and sighs. “Duke!”

Deucalion stops his team. He frowns as he listens to the order. The Marines do not take the request for no firing well.”

“Is he fucking crazy?” Jackson barks.

“What are we supposed to use?” Boyd asks. “Harsh language?”

Derek growls low in his throat. It's a sound that under any other circumstances would go straight to Stiles' cock but right now it just underlines how stressed the Marine is. 

“ Flame units only,” Harris orders. “I want rifles slung.”

Deucalion breathes deep to keep his calm. He's dealt with inexperienced CO's before. “Sir, I --” Harris forestalls him.

“Just do it, sergeant. And no grenades.” 

Deucalion can see this is going to be a losing battle so he just relents. “All right, my darlings, you heard the man. Pull 'em out ... let's have them. Martin, you and Argent too. Clear and lock.”

Lydia hands over their cartridges as ordered but when no one looks, she pulls two extras out and hands one to Allison who chuckles. Lydia rolls her eyes and examines her neatly trimmed nails.

“As if this perfection would walk in there unarmed.”

Derek sighs and looks around as Deucalion takes his cartridges. He walks over to Jackson and whispers in the young man's ear, covering the mike. Jackson blinks and looks up. Derek gives him a pointed look and motions with his eyes to the others. Jackson nods. Before Deucalion finishes gathering the rounds and reassuring his team, the knowledge that Harris was trying to hide has made the rounds. Derek knows why the rounds are off the table. He doesn't agree completely with disarming them this way ... a precautionary warning of the situation would have done, but orders are orders. He pulls a shotgun from his pack and pumps it. Boyd regards it respectfully.

“For close encounters,” Derek says quietly.

“I heard that,” Boyd replies.

The team moves out again and Stiles watches the cameras. They are coming up on where the colonists are and Stiles is praying that they simply find a large huddled group of frightened people. What the cameras show when they round the corner however, is exactly what Stiles fears.  He turns and urges Kit-Kat to the front with no discussion. He swallows hard and looks back at the gruesome structure unfolding.

Derek looks up and sees tennis shoes sticking out of the resin coating the walls. He follows the line up and sees a face of a young man in agony. His chest is nothing but a gaping hole ridged with shattered bones. Derek realizes this is the aftermath of a chestburster. This is the nightmare that wakes Stiles every single night and leaves him clutching his chest. He knows this only because of his uncle's not-so-proper reading of Stiles' psych evals. They continue to move into the cavernous area and more colonists appear, all of them very dead. Their bodies have been glued to the wall with a sense of aesthetics that doesn't take into consideration the limitations of the human body. Backs, legs, arms ... broken and twisted to fit their chosen spot.

Derek glances around and sees the eggs that Stiles spoke about littering the floor in front of the clumps of bodies. He crouches and lifts the skeleton of what has to be a facehugger. The folded legs and long body look just as Stiles described them in his report ... a large hand with a prehensile tail. Derek thinks once they are out of this and he has Stiles in his bed, he's going to make sure the kid has a night with no dreams. None of this shit, anyway.

“Alright, steady on, people,” Deucalion's precise British speech comes over the comms. “Let's finish our sweep ... we are still Marines and we have a job to do.”

Danny pauses in front of a woman hanging under a piping cluster. He lifts her head and looks at the pale features covered in whatever the resinous muck is that pins her in place. Her eyes open suddenly and Danny dances back.

“She's alive! Top get over here, we gotta live one!” Danny barks. To the woman, he says calmly, “You're gonna be alright, you'll be alright.”

Stiles' heart jumps into his throat and he grips his chest convulsively as he hears the woman whisper softly then say more stridently, “Kill me.”

The Marines are still trying to decide how to free her when the woman's body clenches and jerks. Stiles bites his lower lip as he knows what's coming. He hears the same agonized screaming from the woman that he heard from Finstock that horrible dinner so long ago. The pain of something horrible pushing its way out of a body and being completely unable to stop it. He feels hot tears sliding down his face and regrets nothing. He's a man and he'll deal later but right now ... right now all he can remember is pointing a gun at his father's agonized face and seeing the relief there before he pulled the trigger.

_ I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. _ The words loop in Stiles' mind and he doesn't know who he's apologizing to ... the woman dying on the screen, his dad,  his friends on the  _ Beacon _ , Kit-Kat for losing her family,  the other colonists pinned to the walls  or the Marines who are most certainly about to learn that monsters really do live in the dark.


	7. Escape

Stiles watches the screen miserably as the female colonist begs the Marines to end her life. Stiles wishes he was there, he would do it in a heartbeat. He knows she's feeling the thing inside her looking for a way out ... and it will come out. When her words dissolve into meaningless screams, Stiles knows what Derek and the others will see next. They will know what he dreams of every night. Deucalion grabs the flamethrower from Danny and rakes the area with fire. The hammer headed creature screams and dies, falling limply against the host it burst from.

Derek's eyes are wide. He realizes this is Stiles' nightmare come true. He suddenly wishes they'd left the young man on the _Sulaco_. Unfortunately, he Derek's thoughts quickly turn to survival.

The Marines mill around, trying to figure out what to do next – they are all disoriented in this organic lair from hell and none of them want to know if more colonists are alive with those ...  _things_ ... inside them. Jackson looks down at his tracker and feels his heart rate increase.

“Movement!”

Duke looks over. “What's the position, Whittemore?”

Jackson taps his tracker. “I can't lock in ... multiple signals ... they're closing!”

“Go to infrared, people ... let's look sharp,” Deucalion orders.

* * *

Harris breaks out in a light sweat as he slides his command chair from one end of the console to the other. Stiles swallows hard. His instincts are screaming at him to run. He can see the heart rates increasing on the medical monitors. He watches Derek's scans as respiration and heartbeat increase. 

_Don't let him die, dad ... please ... not him ... not any of them but not him,_ Stiles begs silently.

“Duke? What's going on? We can't see anything in here!” Harris barks.

“Pull your team out, Harris,” Stiles says softly. “Pull them out _now_.”

Harris ignores Stiles. He refuses to panic. He refuses to give his team a reason to disregard him any more than they already do.

* * *

Jackson calls out. “I got signals! In front and behind!”

“Where?” Boyd replies. “I don't see shit!”

Derek thinks Boyd must truly be unsettled to be cursing. “He's right, Jax ... there's nothin' back here!”

Jackson frowns at his display and swallows hard. “Look ... I'm telling you ... there's something moving and it ain't  _us_ !”

Derek hears the panic beginning to bleed through in Jackson's voice and that finally makes him nervous. Jackson doesn't  _get_ nervous. Not like this ... his erstwhile lover is cool under fire. But then again, they've never fought an enemy they couldn't see ... couldn't physically touch and understand.

“Jax, cool your jets ... double-check your readings,” Derek says calmly.

Jackson curses loudly. “I've  _done that_ , Hale! They're all around us!”

Danny glances around. “Maybe ... maybe they don't show up on infrared at all ...” he suggests.

It's the last time any of his teammates will hear their gentle friend speak. The wall behind Danny unfolds into a shape Derek can't even  _begin_ to wrap his head around. Danny screams as talons the length of his forearm bury themselves in his chest. He convulsively pulls up on his flamethrower and sprays Boyd. Two screams echo over the helmet but Boyd goes silent first,  his body falling down the stairwell. 

Jackson stares in disbelief. “Dan – Danny?” 

Derek grabs the private and jerks him back from where he stands in shock. Boyd's pack, where all the cartridges were stashed, explodes, spraying shrapnel everywhere. Deucalion is calling out over his comm.

“Sound off!”

Stiles winces as only a few voices sing back to their sergeant. Hale, Whittemore, Martin, Argent ... he barely knew either Danny or Boyd but both men seemed nice in their own way. Stiles glances at Peter.

“Get your team out, Harris,” Stiles warns. “Get them out _now_.”

Harris makes a dismissive gesture but his attention is pulled back to the monitors when the unmistakeable sound of gunfire echoes over the comms. Lydia and Allison are done being wallflowers and they are done waiting for death to find them. Harris stares at the monitors in disbelief.

“Who's firing?? I ordered to hold fire ... I --”

Jackson is moving, trying to find a way to get clear when something straight out of the worst nightmare he ever had crawls down the scaffold of resin and human bodies. He fires his handgun but the thing moves so fast it's gone before his shots reach it.

“They're coming out of the walls ... fuck! We gotta get outta here!!” Jackson shouts.

Shots sound over the comm again followed by an inhuman screech of pain. Stiles blinks and freezes. He knows that sound. He hears it in his dreams. He feels a tremor beginning in his legs. It slides through muscle to the top of his head. Peter sees only the chaos on the monitors and wonders if his nephew will survive.

Harris babbles uselessly on the comm. “I ... I want you to lay down a suppressing fire with the incinerators ...”

Deucalion fights to hear over his zealous soldiers. Lydia and Allison are capable warriors in battle so he knows they are finding targets and not just shooting blindly. He presses his hand over the commlink in his ear.  That still doesn't mean they don't get on his nerves a little.

“Say again? All after 'incinerators, sir,” Duke asks.

Harris blows out a frustrated breath. “ I want you to lay down a suppressing fire with the incinerators ...”

D eucalion turns, straining to hear the order. He looks up and something uncoils from the ceiling. Stiles blanches when the camera picks up just the faintest glance of whatever makes Duke scream in the next moment. He thought his dark night was so horrible ... he only had one of them. 

_Derek_ ...

Angry now, Stiles turns to Harris. “Get them out of there!”

“Shut up!”

“Fuck you! Get them out now!” Stiles barks.

Harris slumps in his seat, eyes wide as the disorganized shouting continues. “I told them to fall back ... I told them to fall back ...”

* * *

Derek realizes they're cut off about the same time that Stiles' does ... and his Marine training kicks in full-force. Not finding Duke, Derek assumes his sergeant is dead, so he begins rounding up the survivors for a fall-back and retreat. They have to get the hell of out of this place ... at least onto ground where they can move and fight. Here, they are fish in a barrel.

Turning, Derek sees Jackson moving toward him and sees movement that doesn't quite match human flexibility behind him. 

“Jackson! Down!” Derek yells.

The shot goes over the private's head and the alien behind him dies with a screech. Derek curses and finds Allison and Lydia ... he tries very hard not to think where the rest of his team disappeared to.

* * *

Stiles gives up on persuading Harris to do anything but look at the monitors with a slack-jawed interest. He races to the front of the transport and pulls the roll cage lock over Kit-Kat's head. 

“Stay down, kiddo and hang on.” Dark eyes watch him as she nods solemnly. Stiles knows what she's thinking and he nods. “Yep ... you told us so. I'm listening to you next time.”

Sliding into the driver's seat, Stiles pulls the driving yoke toward him and scans the console, divining how everything works in an instant – his gift of being able to fly or drive damn near anything. 

Harris howls angrily and surges up to the front when Stiles opens up the engine and pushes the behemoth as fast as it will go. He'll be damned if some ...  _kid_ ... shows him up. It's  _his_ command and he  _will_ save his team.

Stiles, however, gives not a single flying  _fuck_ at Harris' motives. He refuses to watch an entire Marine squad die simply because Harris freezes at the wrong time. He knows what fate awaits if the Marines aren't saved. He knows and he finds he really, really wants to get to know Hale better ... he wants to go home and sleep in a warm, safe bed and not have to consider these horrific beings any more. But first things first.

Harris tries to wrest control of the transport from Stiles who locks his arms and holds on grimly. He can hear the man yelling at him but nothing breaks his death grip. Even after Peter pulls the lieutenant off him, Stiles' brain is functioning on one setting now – get them out. It's all he can think ... Peter sees the way Stiles' eyes have gone blank and staring and wonders just what the hell he's gotten himself into. Still ... he might not like  Derek much , but it would be nice if Stiles could save his nephew.  After all, they are the only ones left of their family. Peter sighs and wonders how he can salvage this fiasco to the Company's satisfaction.

* * *

D erek is dragging Jackson to group with Lydia and Allison when he hears an enormous crash. Looking over, he sees the transport burst through a wall of resin. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Grabbing Jackson firmly, he shouts at the smart-gunners and makes his way to the vehicle. 

“Lydia! _We are leaving!”_ Derek shouts over the gunfire and revving motor. 

Allison moves closer to the vehicle, keeping her partner in sight as she brings up the rear. Allison knows Lydia is seriously pissed off about everything that's happened. Her violent screams at the aliens attest to that – they've lost friends and fellow soldiers. The redhead will make as many of the bio-nightmares pay for that as she can before they leave.

Clambering into the transport, Derek and Jackson turn to see Lydia divesting herself of the smart-gun which is out of ammo. She unslings her flamethrower and wafts a large wave of flame over the area. Jackson grins ... Lydia is just as fierce in bed and he thinks maybe they need to reconnect after this is all over.

Allison steps back into the vehicle when she sees an alien rise from where it was waiting, unseen. She screams.

“Lydia!”

Lydia turns just as the alien hisses in preparation for attack. Allison fires, blowing the thing to pieces ... and sending its blood spraying over Lydia. Allison's scream matches Lydia's and Jackson's voice is not far behind.

In her death throes, Lydia 's grip on the flamethrower does not relax. A long rope of fire heads for the open door and Derek is pulling Allison back out of the way. He hears Lydia's pain-filled screams stop. Jackson and Allison's do not but Jackson is trying to block Allison while Peter and Harris put out the fire.

“She's gone! Allison! She's gone!” Jackson yells.

Allison hears none of it. Lydia is her best friend in the universe. Notwithstanding their awesome chemistry in battle, Lydia has been by Allison's side since they signed up. She knows Allison signed up because of her mother's death ... she was there when Allison's first love died. She's a part of Allison and she cannot be dead.

Jackson knows Allison's pain-filled denial. Derek's the only one that knows he never stopped loving Lydia. Hell, half of their sex-filled weekends were because Jackson couldn't take not having Lydia in his life anymore and had to kill the pain. Lydia knows Jackson drives himself because he's adopted and lost his real parents as an infant. Lydia knows how insecure Jackson can get ... she always talks him back from the edge. Lydia is Jackson's soul and she cannot be dead.

Derek manages somehow to get Allison back from the door. They have to leave immediately. As he begins to shut the door, however, two hands with fingers and talons far longer and wicked than anything in God's nature appear and begin to pull the door apart. Jackson and Allison are flanking him, trying to push the door shut. Derek spots his rifle on the floor and picks it up while the others hold the door as tightly as they can. He plants the muzzle in the thing's mouth, seeing the extra mouth in back, fangs glinting and dripping with saliva. 

“Eat this, you fucker,” Derek says softly as he fires.

The back of the alien's skull explodes out. It falls back but acid rains down, droplets landing on Jackson's arm. The private's scream cuts through Derek's brain. Derek turns and yells.

“Stiles! Stiles! Go go go!”

Stiles doesn't have to be told twice. He slams the vehicle into gear and they tear out the way they came in – crashing off walls and supports as Stiles fights to keep control of the transport. Derek and the others are tossed around like the proverbial marbles in a tin can. They fight to brace themselves, not caring about bruises or broken arms ... they are far past those meager concerns. 

Harris is tossed to the back of the vehicle and one of Stiles' sharp turns sends an overhead full of ammo cans down on his head. He doesn't move again. 

Stiles hopes he's remembered the path out correctly. They will not get a second chance at this if he can't get them out.  So intent on his forward motion is Stiles, he doesn't see the alien land on the roof of the vehicle until its too late and glass is raining down on him. Stiles sees the clawed hand reaching and pushes the seat back as far as he can without losing his grip on the steering wheel. Stiles dodges several swipes and then slams down on the brake with all his might. The vehicle screeches to a stop and the unwanted passenger flies off the front. Stiles floors it and runs the thing down before it can get to its feet. A grim smile of triumph flits across Stiles' face. Looking forward again, he sees the door and knows he has no time to figure out how to remotely open it – so he plows through.

Derek feels the transport come to a halt and then abruptly take off again. He hears the screech outside and figures Stiles just ran one of the bastards under the treads. He doesn't feel too sad. It dawns on him that they are about to come to the main door ... and then he and the others go whipping around just as Stiles drives them through the complex overhead door. He and Jackson share a tiny grudging grin. The kid's no Marine but he's not far from it.

“Better stop him before he drives us off the tires,” Jackson says. 

Derek nods and makes his way up front. He takes in Stiles' thousand yard stare and white-knuckles on the steering wheels – coupled with the hyperventilation, Stiles is seconds away from a full-blown panic attack. Derek puts his hand over Stiles'.

“It's ok! We're clear!” Derek shouts. “Stiles! You blew the transaxle ... you're just grinding metal!”

Stiles hears Derek's voice and he relaxes his locked elbows, pulling the throttle back. 

“Ease down, kid ... ease down ... ease down,” Derek croons softly, gradually feeling Stiles relax and release the yoke.

Stiles looks over at Derek and suddenly the Marine's mouth is on his, tongues wrapped around each other. Somehow, the transport stops while Derek's kiss brings Stiles' heart rate back to a fast, but more normal beat. When they part, Stiles realizes just how wonderfully green Derek's eyes are.

“Thank – thanks,” Stiles stammers.

Derek chuckles. “We owe  _you_ , kid.” He brushes a lighter kiss across Stiles' startled expression and then moves back to check on the others.

Looking around, Stiles finds Kit-Kat. “You ok, kiddo?”

The tiny girl gives him a thumbs up. She clutches her fox in the other hand. Survivor to the end, Stiles thinks. Moving to the back, he sees Jackson being tended by Allison. Peter is standing wide-eyed surveying the aftermath. He doesn't like the calculating look in the man's eyes. Stiles sees Derek crouching beside Harris' unconscious form.

“What happened?” 

Derek shakes his head. “Dunno ... looks like the ammo cans hit him. Might have a concussion ... but he's alive.”

Allison draws a very long, wicked looking blade. “Oh no he isn't ... I'm going to cut out his heart and  _feed it to him_ !”

Derek barely manages to block Allison's attack. “Back off, Alli,” Derek says, knowing she  _hates_ that nickname. “ Just back off now ... ok?”

Allison stalks off but then Jackson pulls their attention to something else. “Hey ... hey look. The sarge ... and Danny ... they're not dead. Their signs are real low but they ain't dead ...”

Allison's jaw sets. “Then we go back in and get them.”

Jackson turns with a snort. “Are you out of your fucking mind? We'd be dead before we got five feet from the door!”

“We don't leave anyone behind, Jackson!” Allison snaps.

“Don't you pull that recruiting poster shit on me! Besides, where are they? Huh? You just gonna go marching in and ask all the little monsters if they could show us the way, please and thank you?” Jackson returns.

“You can't help them!” Stiles screams.

Silence falls and three shell-shocked Marines turn to look at him. Stiles, however, is feeling very calm. He knows this situation ... knows the parameters ... he's back in frightening but familiar territory. 

“You can't ... right now they're being cocooned like the others,” Stiles says, meeting Derek's pained gaze.

Jackson groans. “This ain't happening. It ain't happening. How the  _fuck_ is this happening?”

Derek puts a hand on Jackson's shoulder, firm and calming. The Marine looks over at his once-lover. Derek huffs a laugh at the familiar look in Jackson's eye.

“Not this time, Jax. Someone else has dibs,” Derek whispers, glancing over his shoulder at Stiles who is wrapping Harris' head.

Jackson blows out an exhausted breath. “Yeah, figures ... fuck. Lyds ... Derek, they got Lyds.”

Derek relents and leans in close, his breath brushing over Jackson's ear. “I know, kid. I know and I'm so sorry.”

Jackson closes his eyes as Derek's lips press lightly against his temple. He nods and clears his throat as Derek moves away. He's a Marine and he will  _not_ break over this. He sits down and finds a tiny, filthy stuffed toy shoved in his face. Jackson blinks in surprise as Kit-Kat hands him the little fox.

“Her name is Kitsu,” Kit-Kat says quietly.

“Hey, Kitsu,” Jackson mutters, not sure what to say.

“She's sorry your friend is dead. She thought she had pretty hair,” Kit-Kat says.

Jackson nods. “She did. She ... uh ... well, look at that,” Jackson murmurs, turning the toy over in his hand. “It was this color ... never realized that.”

Jackson points to a clean spot on the stuffed toy that shows the fox's red coat. Kit-Kat grins. “She's ok, then. She was part fox too ... 'kitsune' means “always comes” ... she'll be back.”

Kit-Kat takes her toy and goes to watch Stiles. Jackson stares after the little girl and finds himself hoping she's right.

_Love you, Lyds. Probably see you sooner than I want to,_ Jackson thinks.

Allison is still pacing. She pauses and looks over at Derek and Jackson. “We've got seven canisters of CN-20. We roll those in there and nerve gas the whole fucking nest.”

Derek shakes his head. “Good idea, but we don't know if it'll even affect them.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “How about this? How about we bug out and call it even? What are we discussing this for?”

Stiles looks over. “I saw we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit.” He meets Derek's eyes. “It's the only way to be sure.”

“Fuckin' A!” Jackson says. “I like the way you think, kid.”

“Hold on ... hold on, one second,” Peter's voice is a sudden discordant note. “This installation has a substantial dollar value attached to it.”

“They can bill me,” Stiles bites out.

Peter sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Look, this is an emotional moment for all of us, ok? But let's not make snap judgments.  This is clearly an ... important ... species we're dealing with, and I don't think that you, or I or any of us have the right to arbitrarily exterminate them.”

“Wrong,” Stiles says.

“Yeah,” Allison agrees. “Watch us.”

“Maybe you haven't been keeping up on current events but we just got our asses handed to us, pal!” Jackson snaps.

“Look, I'm not blind to what's happening here but I cannot authorize that kind of action,” Peter says calmly. 

Stiles regards Peter for a moment, his brain turning. Then he smiles. “Well, I believe Corporal Hale has authority here.”

Peter blinks. “ _Corporal_ Hale ...”

“This operation is under military jurisdiction,” Stiles explains, enjoying the smile creeping across other faces. “Derek is next in chain of command. Am I right?”

Derek gapes at Stiles even while feeling inordinately proud. The kid is smart and sneaky to boot ... a good foil to Peter. He sighs. “Yeah ... yeah, that's right.”

“Look, Stiles,” Peter says reasonably. “This is a multimillion-dollar installation, ok? He can't make that kind of decision ... he's just a _grunt_!” Peter turns his sickly polite smile on Derek. “No offense, nephew.”

Derek's jaw is stiff. “None taken,  _uncle_ . Reyes, do you copy?”

“Standing by,” comes the cold, steady voice of their pilot. 

Derek meets Peter's eyes as he speaks. “Prep for dust off. We're gonna need immediate evac.”

“Roger, on our way.”

“I say we take off, nuke the site from orbit,” Derek says calmly, enjoying the flare of rage in his uncle's eyes. His gaze flicks over to Stiles. “It's the only way to be sure.”

Stiles blushes and smiles back.


	8. Change of Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this update, yikes! Jackson gets our title mention in this scene. Thanks for everyone who's stuck it out so far.

Stiles shivers with the rising wind on the surface of LV-426. He helps Derek, Peter, and Jackson carry the stretcher with the motionless form of Harris. The man's head is bandaged and he's received what medical help they can provide, but until he regains consciousness, they won't know completely if he'll be alright. Stiles isn't sure he cares. Callous, but he can't help remember the way the man froze when his team needed him most. Even during his own private crucible, Stiles never stopped trying to survive. It's the only thing that's carried him forward from the moment he awoke in a new world with all the people he loved gone.

Stiles feels the emptiness of those gone now and he didn't know them all that well. He knows they'd been together for a long time relatively speaking. He knows the grief they must be feeling but he also understands they will never talk of it. Maybe alone, between themselves or a lover they trust, but never aloud.

Allison carries her handgun at the ready while Derek has his shotgun handy. He eyes the terrain and motions to the group carrying Harris.

“Set him down here,” Derek orders. He pops a flare and tosses it wide of their position. All they can do is wait.

* * *

Erica does her pre-flight check almost as a second thought. She knows her craft and it's ready. So is she. With a grumble, she taps her headset and barks, “Let's move it, Lahey! We're rolling!”

Isaac races up the ramp to join his pilot in the cockpit when his hand runs across something disgusting on the railing. He frowns as he pulls his hand away and a thin webbing of goo comes with it.

Isaac scrunches his face as he looks around the hold. “Wait up, Erica ... there's something ...”

“Just get _up_ here,” Erica barks.

Isaac knows better than to quarrel with Erica when her voice takes that tone. She's in the 'zone' and her mission is to reach her team and pull them out of whatever hellhole they've been dropped into ... she will not take kindly to distractions at this point. Erica's retaliations are legendary. He slaps his palm on the ramp lift control.

“I'm in,” Isaac says, wiping his hand on his pants. “Ramp closing.”

Isaac never sees the shadow uncoiling from behind him.

* * *

In the cockpit, Erica waits impatiently for her co-pilot to join her. She's already grieving Boyd's loss and planning exactly what she intends to do to Isaac when he finally deigns to join her. Tapping her comm, she tries him again.

“Lahey? Isaac?” slumping back as she smoothly guides her craft toward the team, Erica curses softly. “Fuck.”

The door to the cockpit opens behind her and Erica snorts. “Where the  _fuck_ \--?”

She never gets her gun out of its holster before the nightmare reaches her.

* * *

Stiles watches with his arm around Kit-Kat as the  dropship heads toward them. The wind is blowing dust hard now as the planet reasserts itself against the failing atmospheric towers. He shields his eyes and waits. Soon, he'll be off this rock and, if he's very lucky, he'll have time to get to know corporal Hale a little better before they go into cryosleep. Stiles knows it might seem cold hearted to others to even be considering such things in the wake of their grievous loss but life, Stiles has learned, will go on regardless of whatever darkness tries to stop it. Life will continue until it simply cannot. He wanted to shut down and give up when he was forced to kill his own father. He didn't and he think Derek would stop now either. For better or worse, they were both survivors and they would make the most of life as it came.

Lost in thought, Stiles hadn't seen the initial first dip of the dropship's wings. He s ees t he second, more dramatic shift  and then the ship clips one of the low outcroppings of rock that dot the area. He grabs Kira up, shouting, “Run!”

The entire group scrambles for what cover they could find. The ship had been coming straight at them of course so they had little time to find a place to shelter that  _wasn't_ directly in the crash path. Stiles winces as the ship tumbles and explodes. It ends up rolling and tearing itself to shreds before fetching up against the buildings and sending up a fireball. Derek angles his body over Stiles and Kit-Kat as shrapnel rains down on them. 

Jackson sits up, his eyes wild. He looks at the devastation around them and realizes what must have happened ... what  _had_ to have happened and his brain refuses to accept it. Jackson whimpers softly as he watches Derek pull burning debris off Harris and the others stagger through the remains of the dropship in shock. He picks up something that looks like it might have been part of a control panel. He was trained to fight enemies that followed certain rules and told that his weapons were the best out there ... he was told he was badass. Jackson thinks now he isn't so badass and he doesn't know what rules apply anymore.

“This is just great,” Jackson says softly, tossing the junked panel aside. “Just fuckin' great, man – exactly what the _fuck_ are we supposed to do now?”

Derek glances over at Jackson and sees his teammate on the verge of a breakdown. He knows Jackson is a good soldier, but emotionally? He was never meant for this life – he feels too much and when his carefully constructed walls are attacked? Jackson lashes out or loses control. Derek's pulled him out of one too many bar fights not to know this – and he's also been the release fuck which is Jackson's  _other_ coping method. Jackson's walls are  _down_ now so he's a wildcard. 

“We are _in the shit now!_ ” Jackson practically wails.

Derek drags Jackson by his armor to face him. He growls, “Are you  _done_ ?”

Jackson meets his eyes and it's apparent that he's not done but he'll hush for the moment which is all Derek is asking. Derek gently rubs a thumb against the jawline and feels the trembling there. Jackson jerks away, fighting to control his fear. Derek wonders if he'll succeed.

Derek looks over at Stiles who is looking morosely at the rubble that once meant escape. He feels a horrible sense of deja vu and sighs. Whatever these things are ... they're smart.

“You ok?” Derek asks gently.

Stiles looks up and nods. Derek studies the amber eyes for a moment and nods approvingly. He knows the young man is a fighter. He wishes with everything in him they'd listened to his warnings.

“Guess we're not gonna be leaving now, right?” A small voice asks.

Stiles looks unhappily at the little girl. Her dark eyes show an understanding most adults never achieve. “I'm sorry, Kit-Kat.”

“You don't have to be sorry,” the little girl replies. “It wasn't your fault.”

Jackson pushes up, hands fisting in his hair. “Game over ... this is – just – game over, dude! What the  _fuck_ are we supposed to do now?!?”

Peter, who is trying to salvage  _something_ out of this situation that ends with him being alive, barks, “Maybe we could build a fire ... sing songs ... how does  _that_ sound?”

Kira leans closer to Stiles. “We should get back because it'll be dark soon and they mostly come at night ... mostly.”

* * *

Derek watches the moon disappear as they shutter the med lab again. He turns away and walks to a table where Jackson and Allison have gathered whatever weapons they could salvage. He sighs.

“All right ... this is absolutely everything we could get out of the A.P.C. wreckage,” Derek says. He glances over the meager collection. “We've got four pulse rifles with about 50 rounds each ... that isn't so good. We got ... 15 of these M-40 grenades ...”

Kira reaches out for the grenade he sets down but Jackson deftly pulls it away. She looks up at him. 

“It's dangerous, honey,” the soldier says.

Stiles frowns. “Is that the only flamethrower?”

Derek nods. “It's only half-full but it's functional. The other one is damaged so I don't know about it.”

Jackson finds himself amused by Kit-Kat's antics. She pulls on his helmet which swamps her head. 

Stiles' brain is still turning over every detail, determined to find something ... anything ... to give them an edge. “How long after we're declared overdue can we expect a rescue?”

Derek and Allison share a look. “Seventeen days.”

Jackson looks up at that. “Seventeen  _days_ ? Hate to rain on your parade, Derek but we won't last 17  _hours_ !” He paces. “Those ... those  _things_ are going to come in here and ... and ... fuck! They'll come in here and they'll get us!”

Stiles rounds on the  private. He gets panic attacks, he really does, but that won't serve any of them here. 

“ _Look_ , Whittemore ... this little girl survived longer than that ... with no weapons and no training. Right?” Stiles smiles down at Kit-Kat who salutes from under Jackson's helmet.

Jackson snorts. “Great, put  _her_ in charge!”

“You better start dealing with it, Jackson! Listen to me ... we need you and I'm done with your bullshit, ok?” Stiles meets the blue-green gaze steadily. “You think I didn't want to chuck it all when I figured out I was the only fucking one left alive on my ship? You think I don't get what we're up against? Wrong ... I know exactly what the fuck those things are capable of and I'm just as fucking scared as you but we don't have time for this shit. Ok? Now I need to see some kind of floor plan ... construction blueprints, I don't care as long as it shows the layout of this place. You with me? I need to see air ducts, electrical access tunnels, subbasements, every possible way into this complex.”

Jackson nods, the wild gleam in his eyes dim now. He has a purpose. A way to deal. He nods again. “I'm on it.”

As Jackson walks past Derek, he leans close and whispers something that makes the other Marine chuckle and clap him affectionately on the shoulder, sending him off to do his job. Stiles jumps when another figure – someone he'd forgotten entirely about appeared. Scott. The android.

“I'm ... I'll be in Medlab, checking on Harris. I'll continue my analysis of the creature,” Scott says calmly.

Stiles' mouth is a thin line. “Fine. You do that.”

* * *

Stiles looks  down at the maps Jackson has managed to locate. He smiles to himself as they are precisely what he needs. The private is very good at his job when he isn't panicking. Stiles traces a long line along the map.

“This service tunnel must be how they're moving back and forth,” Stiles murmurs.

Jackson agrees. “That's right – moves from the processing station right into the sublevel here.”

Kit-Kat struggles to see what the adults are looking at and finally Derek notices. He seats her on the edge of the table next to him. Jackson directs Stiles on how to drill down the blueprint until they see the area they are currently in. Stiles frowns in thought.

“There's a pressure door at this end ... we could close that and weld it shut. That should hold them for a while,” the young man thinks aloud. “Then we repair the barricades at these two intersections and weld plate steel over these ducts here ... here ... and here. That should seal off Medlab and Operations.”

Derek blinks as he reviews the plan and he nods. “Outstanding. Now all we need is a deck of cards,” Derek exhales. “Alright people. Let's move like we got a purpose.”

“Affirmative,” Jackson says.

“Aye-firmative,” Kit-Kat copies, looking up at Derek.

The Marine grins. Tough little thing that she is, Kit-Kat is doing the one thing no one else can – she's giving them hope.

* * *

Stiles glances at the blueprint printout as Derek finishes a weld. He mentally ticks off the completed sealings. Derek watches his profile for a moment before reaching into a side pocket and pulling something out. He clears his throat.

“Um, here ... I want you to put this on,” Derek says.

Stiles glances over at the object. It looks like an old time wrist-watch with a Velcro band. He looks up at Derek as he fastens it on his wrist. “What's it for?”

“It's a locator ... I can find you anywhere in the complex with this,” Derek shows him a small cylindrical tracker that marks off the distance from Stiles in feet. “It's just a precaution.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says with a grin.

Derek glances around quickly and presses a kiss to Stiles mouth, less demanding than the last one he gave the young man. He breaks away before his body betrays him and smiles softly. “Doesn't mean we're engaged or anything,” Derek warns.

Stiles chuckles. “Shut up ... what's next on our to-do list?”

* * *

It's late and Stiles is almost ready to drop himself. He sighs and scoops up Kit-Kat who is definitely drooping. He carries her into an exam room toward the rear of Medlab. Sitting her down on the bed, he tucks her in gently and turns on a small space heater.

“You get a nap in, kiddo,” Stiles says. “You're very tired.”

Kit-Kat looks at him nervously. “I don't want to sleep ... I have scary dreams.”

Stiles sighs. “I know ... but Kitsu doesn't ... try to be like her.”

Kit-Kat regards Stiles with a faintly exasperated look. “Kitsu doesn't have bad dreams because she's a  _doll_ .”

Stiles chuckles. “Sorry, Kit-Kat ... I forget you and I live in the real world, kid.”

Kit-Kat nibbles on her lip and then looks at Stiles. “ My mommy told me that monsters aren't real ... but they are.”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, they are ... aren't they?”

“Why do they tell little kids that?”

Stiles considers for a moment then shrugs. “Most of the time it's true, kiddo.” He pauses for a moment, then puts the wrist tracker Derek gave him on her arm. “Here ... wear this for luck.”

As Stiles gets up, Kit-Kat grabs his arm. “Please don't go.”

“Kit-Kat, I'll be right in the other room ... see that camera? I can see you on that and I'll keep a close watch. I promise. I won't leave you.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart.” Stiles replies with a smile.

“And hope to die?”

Stiles' smile fades but he nods. “And hope to die.”

Kit-Kat hugs him tightly and he returns it. They've survived this far ... Stiles hopes they can make it home. He presses a soft kiss to the girl's hair before he leaves the room. He hopes she doesn't dream. He hopes when he gets his own chance to sleep he won't dream either.


	9. Countdown Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm folks along with a little bit of sexy times for our two heroes.

Stiles stares at the motionless form of Harris. He doesn't regret dropping the ammo cans on the man's skull. Not really. He watched an entire squad get killed because of his indecision. Stiles wonders if he's become harder since his experience aboard the _Beacon_. He supposes he has ... fighting for your very life will suck the very idealism right out of a person.

Scott, the android, is talking. Stiles wonders about the synthetic's soft voice and pleasing features. It's a much less harsh face to look at than the Gerard model had been ... Stiles realizes he's staring at it. He colors and looks away quickly. The broad smile the android gave him looked almost ... human.

“Ok, explain it again, Scott?” Stiles asks.

“The creature's blood ... the molecular acid oxidizes after its death, completely neutralizing it,” Scott explains. “It's really very fascinating ... I've never seen --”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says dismissively. “It's really interesting but that doesn't explain what's going on here.”

Stiles walks over and looks at the preserved face-hugger. Until this place, he'd only ever seen one. That was enough to give him nightmares for the rest of his life.

“Ok, they grab the colonists and drag them over there ... they glue 'em to the wall so they can be hosts for more of _these_ things,” Stiles gestures at the face-hugger. “That means there has to be a lot of these fucking things ... one for each colonist. That's over a hundred eggs.”

Scott nods. “That makes sense.”

“So what the fuck is laying these eggs?” Stiles asks.

Scott shakes his head. “No clue ... it's got to be something we haven't seen yet.”

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose. “Awesome ... that's just – well, that's just _great_.”

Jackson pales at the thought that there is something else ... something _worse_ out there ... waiting. Allison, standing next to him, claps him on the shoulder. It's all the comfort she can give but its enough. Jackson's jaw tightens and he nods. It doesn't matter what's out there. All that matters is how to kill it if they have to and then get the fuck off the planet.

Stiles looks around at all of Scott's carefully laid out equipment. He knows the way Gerard thought ... preserving whatever the alien was that they'd captured. He doesn't want a repeat.

“Scott ... I want you to torch these specimens when you're done with them. Got it?”

Scott looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Mr. Hale gave instructions that they were to be kept alive in stasis for return to the company labs. He was _very_ specific about it.”

Stiles gapes. “Oh I sure bet he was.”

* * *

Peter Hale sighs indulgently. He hates dealing with those who think only in terms of black or white. Yes or no. Right or wrong. He hopes he can reach a more reasonable part of the young man's mind. He was able to change his mind once ... perhaps he can do it again.

“Look, Stiles ... those two specimens are worth _millions_ to the bio-weapons division, right?” He smiles. “If you're smart, we can both be heroes, Stiles ... you'd be set for life.”

Stiles shakes his head. “You're crazy, Hale, you know that? Do you really think you can get a dangerous organism like that past I.C.C. quarantine?”

“How can they impound it if they don't know about it?” Peter asks slyly.

“Oh but they will know about it ... from me,” Stiles says glibly. “Just like they'll know you were responsible for the deaths of 157 colonists!”

“Now wait just a second --” Peter protests.

“No, _you_ wait a second – you sent them to that ship and you didn't even _warn_ them, you asshole! Colony log directive dated 6-12-79, signed Hale, Peter.”

Peter sighs. “Stiles, I had no way of knowing if that ship even existed. If I made a major security situation out of it, everyone gets involved and no one gets exclusive rights. I made a decision and it was wrong ... it was a bad call.”

Stiles surges forward and slams the man against the glass angrily. “ _'Bad call'_ ?!? These people are _dead_ , Peter! Don't you get it? I do! And I'm gonna make sure everyone else does too ... you won't be able to sleaze your way out of this.”

Stiles releases him and stalks to the door. Peter chuckles.

“You know, Stiles, I thought you were smarter than this ... I thought you were different,” Peter says.

“Happy to disappoint you, asshole,” Stiles growls.

* * *

Derek studies the far cooling tower intently. He hopes he doesn't see what he thinks he's going to but then there's a flare of light and a bright plume of gas jets into the atmosphere. He sighs and looks over at Scott.

“How long till it blows?” he asks tiredly.

“Four hours,” Scott confirms. “The blast radius'll be 20 miles at least ... about 40 megatons.”

Derek looks at Stiles and shakes his head. “Yeah, we got problems.”

“ _Awesome!_ ” Jackson snaps. “Just fucking awesome! Not enough we got our asses handed to us and now we're _stuck_ here ... sitting on a nuke is just the icing on the cake!”

Allison rolls her eyes as she closes the shutters. She looks over at Scott. “Why can't we shut it down from here?”

Scott shakes his head. “The blast caused too much damage ... it's going to overload now no matter what we do.”

Jackson groans. “Short ... I was so short. Four weeks and out ... me and Lyds were gonna find some beach to live on ... I was gonna go fishin' every day ... no more bug-hunts ... _fuck_!”

“Oh shut up, Jackson,” Allison barks, her temper at its end. “No way Lydia was gonna settle down with _you_ ... she wasn't into guys anymore.”

Jackson freezes and stares at his fellow soldier. He'd suspected but hadn't let himself believe. Allison grimaces. Jackson was irritating the hell out of her but she never intended to hurt him like that.

“Jackson ...”

“Nevermind. It's fine. She's gone anyway ... I'll just buy it on this rock ... no big loss,” Jackson says dully.

Derek grips the private tightly by the neck. The other man struggles but Derek jerks him close and says something no one else can hear. Stiles sees Jackson's ears actually turn pink for a moment before Derek is thrusting him away and smacking the private on his helmeted head.

“Now _get a grip_ ,” Derek barks.

Jackson nods and sits down, his lips drawn into a fine line. Stiles' brain has been running a mile a minute going over options and he thinks he has one. “We have to get the other drop ship from the _Sulaco_. Isn't there a way to bring it down on remote?”

Jackson frowns and then shakes his head. “No, the transmitter was on the A.P.C. ... it's wasted. Unless ... unless maybe we use the colony transmitters?”

Derek nods. “Yeah, the uplink tower down at the other end! Good thinking, Jax.”

Scott shakes his head and Stiles wants to throttle the android. “The hardware between here and there is damaged ... we can't align the dish. I checked.”

Stiles curses softly. “Well ... someone's gotta go out there then. Take a portable terminal and patch in manually. Not ideal with those things running around out there.”

“I'll go,” Jackson says softly.

Derek's eyebrows go up. “Jax ...”

“No, seriously, dude ... you were right ... we don't have time for my bullshit. I can go out there and --”

“Actually,” Scott speaks up. “I'll go. I'm the only one qualified to remote pilot the ship.” Scott looks hesitant. “Believe me, I'd rather not go ... I'm synthetic, not stupid.”

Stiles has to admit, he totally gets that statement.

* * *

Stiles watches as they cut a hole in a long pipeline that travels from one end of the colony to the other. He cannot imagine doing what Scott is about to ... he wonders if synthetics have courage or real fear. Scott seems calm enough but he's not gushing like he was over the intricacies of the alien face-huggers earlier. Stiles almost feels sorry for him.

“It'll take me 40 minutes to crawl down there; an hour to align the dish and patch in; 30 minutes to prep the ship and 50 minutes flight time,” Scott estimates.

Stiles whistles. “That'll cut it fine. Good luck.”

He sticks his hand out and Scott looks at him a minute curiously before shaking it. “See you soon, Stiles.”

* * *

In the ops center, Derek dispatches Jackson and Allison to walk perimeter. As they leave, he calls out. “We're all strung out ... stay frosty and alert, ok? We can't let not even one of those bastards in here.”

Allison nods and slams her fist into Jackson's battle armor. “Come on, big guy.”

Derek looks at Stiles who is quietly drinking some of the awful coffee.

“How long's it been since you got any sleep?” Derek asks. “24 hours?”

Stiles shrugs, then meets Derek's eyes. “Derek ... I'm not going to end up like those others. You --- you'd take care of that for me, wouldn't you?”

Derek doesn't need to ask what Stiles is talking about. He nods slowly and then pins Stiles to wall with his body and mouth. When he's satisfied with the dazed expression on Stiles' face he says. “If it comes to that, I'll do us both.” Stiles opens his mouth to say something and Derek claims it again. “Hey, just make sure it doesn't come to that, ok?”

Stiles nods even as he goes back for more, unable to resist the Marine's taste. Derek holds them together for a moment before pulling back. Stiles sighs. “Figures I meet you during the worst week of my life.”

Derek chuckles. “Week's looking up, though.”

Stiles smiles shyly and Derek groans. “God you have to quit doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“You blush and I just want to ...

“Want to what,” Stiles teases, knowing he's really managed to unsettle the Marine.

Derek growls. “I want to swallow you down until you're begging me to fuck you senseless.”

Stiles freezes. He's so hard he wonders how he has enough blood left in his brain to breathe. “That ... you – _fuck me_ ... ”

Derek sighs and presses their foreheads together. “That would be the plan, kid.” He groans. Time to change the topic before he really does swallow Stiles down.

“Hey ... let me introduce you to a close personal friend of mine.” Derek raises his gun. “This is an M-41A pulse rifle, 10 millimeter with an over-and-under 30 millimeter pump-action grenade launcher. Feel the weight.”

Stiles swallows his arousal and takes the rifle. He's surprised to find it reasonable. Looking up at Derek he smiles. “Ok ... what do I do?”

Derek has to do a little swallowing of his own to get past his own suddenly dry throat. The amber eyes looking at him from under those lashes are killing him.

He teaches Stiles briskly like he was taking care of one of his own Marines. Positioning. “Pull it in tight here, lean into it cuz it'll kick some.”

Stiles nods. Derek points to a counter display. “When this reads zero --”

Stiles flips up a switch. “I flip this up ...” He tilts the gun up and pulls out the magazine.

“Right,” Derek nods. “Then you get another one in quick and slap it home hard.”

Stiles puts the magazine back in place and does just that. It clicks home. He grins. Derek smiles back.

“You're ready to rock and roll,” Derek announces.

“Cool. What's this?” Stiles indicates a spot on the muzzle.

“Oh ... that's the grenade launcher ... I don't think you want to mess with that,” Derek warns.

Stiles glances over his shoulder and looks at Derek with the damnable amber eyes. “You started this, _corporal_. Show me everything. I can handle myself.”

Derek smirks. “Yeah, I noticed.”

* * *

The grenade launcher lesson finished, Derek can't be bothered to hold back any longer. Grabbing the young man, he pins him to the wall again and kisses him. Stiles obliges by opening to Derek but then he begins his own aggressive search for skin, his hands seeking some sort of way under the battle armor. Derek chuckles hoarsely and stops the roaming hands. “Just a sec, Stiles ... let me --”

Derek knows exactly how to shift his armor to one side to pull himself out. Stiles chuckles until he feels the strong hands undoing his jeans and sliding over his own length. “Oh gods ... Der-Derek ... what the --”

Derek smiles as he nips at Stiles earlobe. “I'm a Marine, Stiles ... you don't think we know how to give and get in the field without stripping down to our birthday suits? That would be _dangerous_ ... we could get _killed ...”_

Derek's hot breath against his ear drives Stiles straight to the edge as the soldier grips both of their cocks together. Stiles does not even care where the lube came from but Derek sees the surprise in his face before it melts into a gasp of pleasure.

“Always prepared, Stiles ... always ... never know when the opportunity'll present itself,” Derek growls.

“Oh fuck ... oh fuck ... Derek ... I'm getting ... I'm --” Stiles gasps as his climax threatens.

“Go on, handsome ... I gotcha ... be right behind you ---” Derek groans as Stiles spills over his hand with a sharp inhale and ragged gulps of air.

Stiles vaguely feels Derek come. He drifts down from his high into another glorious kiss. He grins sleepily and Derek chuckles.

“Now you definitely look like you need a nap,” Derek observes.

Stiles is not inclined to disagree.


	10. Dark Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there -- no, I didn't forget this one! Little bad news here for one of our crew. Hope you enjoy the update.

Newly confident with the Marine weapon, Stiles walks out of operations. He plans on going to check on Kira and grab a little shut-eye. He allows a tiny smile to tug at his mouth. Derek Hale's body is going to have a starring role in his dreams if he has anything to say about it.

Stiles glances over as the door leading to medlab opens and Harris appears, his head bandaged. Stiles bites back his initial sarcasm and settles on a simple question.

“How's the head?”

“All right, I guess. One hell of a hangover,” Harris offers. “Stiles, look, I --”

Stiles raises a quick hand. “Forget it. Excuse me.”

He pushes past Harris and barely spares a glance at Peter. One man he can almost forgive ... after all, who the hell expects that his first under fire experience is going to be with the monster from your darkest nightmares? The other ... well, Stiles is beginning to think Peter might actually be _related_ to the monsters in his nightmares. Either way, he just wants to get away from them and get a little sleep. He misses Harris looking over at Allison and the look in her eyes that promises the man a slow death should the opportunity present itself.

* * *

Back in medlab, Stiles frowns when he sees the empty bed. He pulls back the covers and his frown deepens until he notices the way the blanket has been pulled down to create a cave-like space under the bed. He smiles as he tugs it back. There, curled into a ball with Kitsu is the little girl.

_Smart kid_ , Stiles thinks. _No wonder you made it this long_.

Stiles gets it. Make yourself small and hide. It's the only way to survive the monsters. He puts the rifle on top of the bed and climbs underneath with Kira. She only whines a little in her sleep before relaxing again. Stiles lies behind her and looks out into the dark room. He thinks about what passed between himself and Derek and he wonders if he'll live to have more with the handsome Marine. He misses his dad, mostly, and he wonders how the hell he got back into a situation like this. Finally, he sleeps.

* * *

Stiles jerks awake, not sure what pulled him out of sleep. It wasn't a nightmare ... for once his mind was mercifully silent. He yawns and looks at his watch. Not much of a nap, but he feels refreshed somewhat. He sighs, lying back down. Derek will wake him when he needs to be up ... he wonders if the Marine has bothered to get any rest. He doubts it.

Laying his head back on the crook of his arm, Stiles idly tracks across the part of the room he can see. Stiles freezes when he spots the empty canisters. The moisture within them is puddled on the flood. His heart is hammering in his chest.

“Kit-Kat,” Stiles whispers, shaking the little girl. “Kit-Kat, wake up.”

The girl does with a sleepy question. Stiles' fingers gently press against her lips.

“Shh ... be quiet, kid. We're in trouble.”

Stiles reaches over the bed frame to feel along the mattress. He doesn't find the rifle where he left it, so he pops his head up to look with a frown. He barely sees the shadow launch itself at his exposed face.

Stiles ducks down, slamming the bed against the writhing mass of muscle. He grunts. The things are strong ... he knows he's losing inches as the thing twists and reaches and whips its tail. He's forgotten how hard it had been to try and loosen the one on Finnstock. If they'd kept pulling, they would have taken the man's face off.

“Go, Kit-Kat ... _go!”_ Stiles barks.

The little girl darts out from under the bed and he follows, turning the frame over on the facehugger. He drags Kira to the door and frantically presses the open key as he tries to keep the parasite in view as it scrambles out from under the bed and runs along the floor edge, the tips of its spider-like legs clicking obscenely on the deck.

The door remains stubbornly shut. Stiles' adrenaline is high and he fights his terror. He's here again. He's back ... there are things in the dark trying to kill him and he has nothing to fight with. Stiles pushes on the door, trying to force it open but it won't move. Kira tries too but her strength is too little even added to his own. Pulling her behind him, Stiles moves to the large observation window. He slams his fist against it, hoping someone will hear. Even as he does so, Stiles knows it's futile. The room is soundproofed to prevent noise from disturbing patients. No one can hear them.

Stiles' eyes land on the rifle, sitting useless on a desk just outside the room. He suddenly knows how the aliens in the room with them got free. Peter. Fucking Peter Hale. He looks up and sees the security camera. Stiles waves his arms in wide arcs, trying to get someone's attention. He is not going to die because of Peter _fucking_ Hale.

“Derek! _DEREK!”_ Stiles yells.

* * *

In the ops center, Derek talks to Scott who's reached the uplink tower. Soon, hopefully _very_ soon, they'll be able to leave this rock. Hopefully soon, he'll be able to spend the long trip back to Earth wrapped around a certain amber-eyed young man in stasis. He doesn't care about regs and life-support system requirements. He's doubled up before on missions where they came under attack and the transports sustained damage. Supposedly, you don't know anything while you're in stasis, but Derek's experience has been otherwise and waking up with Stiles curled up in the curve of his body sounds like heaven right now. He misses Peter turning off a monitor screen and a terrified Stiles disappearing.

* * *

Stiles slams a chair into the shatter-resistant glass three times before casting it aside. He's out of ideas. They can't get anyone to see them and they can't break out. Worst of all ... Stiles can hear the things moving in the room. His heart is in his throat and he wonders how it will feel when one of the facehuggers clutches its cold, slimy body around his head. Will he be conscious when it forces the tube down his throat to implant him with a living nightmare?

“Stiles ... I'm scared,” Kira whispers.

Stiles leans his head back and looks at the ceiling. “Me too.”

Looking at the metal grated ceiling with its vents and piping, Stiles notices something. Something that makes him think. He presses Kira back.

“Stay here, Kit-Kat. I have an idea,” Stiles whispers.

Pulling his lighter from his jacket pocket, Stiles reaches up as far as he can to the fire suppression system. On a backwater world like this, the more modern methods of controlling a fire are too expensive to maintain. A simple water dispersal system is cheap and easy to install. And in an area where pure oxygen is in use, it's better than chemicals anyway. Clicking on the flame, Stiles winces when the water sprays him in the face but the alarm sounds like hope to his frayed nerves.

* * *

Derek looks at the alarm display and feels his heart freeze. “It's the medlab!” He taps his headset. “Jackson! You and Allison meet me in the med wing! We've got a fire!”

Tearing a fire extinguisher off the wall, Derek prays he isn't too late.

* * *

Stiles backs toward Kira. “They're coming, Kit-Kat. Keep your eyes open --”

The facehugger. launches itself from under a vent hood and slams into Stiles chest. He barely has time to get his hands up to keep the thing from gripping his head. Kira's screams fill the air, almost overpowering the alarm.

Stiles throws the thing off him, tossing it across the room as he falls but it's fast. Righting itself, the creature scrambles across the floor, dodging or skittering over the trays, chairs and tables that Stiles is overturning to block it somehow. Fear is all that he knows right now. Fear that that _thing_ will catch him and he'll die when its loathsome offspring tears its way out of his chest. Stiles wants to scream too but he's afraid of opening his mouth.

_Not like this daddy, please ..._ Stiles' horrified thoughts pray.

The parasite leaps again and Stiles is backed against a wall with no where to go. He gets his hands up but the prehensile tail wraps itself around his neck and tightens. Air, most precious of all gases, is suddenly no longer available to him and Stiles begins to gasp. He has the presence of mind to keep pushing the vile facehugger away from his face but it's getting harder and harder. The long, fleshy tube whips the air in front of his gaping mouth.

Kira screams helplessly, clutching her doll. She sees the facehugger crawling over the table beside her just in time and shoves the metal counter hard against the wall but she is too little and the creature inches forward steadily. If it breaks free, Kira knows she will not be able to hold it back like Stiles. She screams louder.

* * *

Derek gawks for a moment at the scene playing out in the medlab. He backs up and yells to Jackson, “Shoot it out!”

Jackson doesn't even hesitate. He rakes the glass with his rifle as Derek goes flying into it. Shattered fragments go everywhere as the dark Marine lands hard on the floor before springing up and racing to Stiles' side. Jackson hears Kira's scream and curses soundly.

“Fuck! Look out, kid!” Jackson yells.

Jerking Kira aside, Jackson slams his booted foot against the table, pinning the facehugger in place. He snarls as he fires, sending bits and pieces of the parasite flying. He shoots until his clip is dead. Not a good idea, but his adrenaline is high.

Kira is watching the drama of Stiles unfold as Derek fights to hold the other facehugger away from the young man's face. She doesn't see the movement overhead or register the thud behind her.

* * *

Derek pulls with all his might on the parasite trying to reach Stiles' head. Harris is there and he adds his strength to the battle until they are able to make some headway.

“Do you have it?” Derek yells.

“Get the tail!” Harris yells back.

Derek pulls on the thing's whipcord tail and finds it's like trying to unwind a frozen cable. He barely manages to get his hands underneath for leverage and then the tail slowly comes loose. He won't succeed unless he can get it off and away. Harris' arms are bunching with the effort but he helps and together, they are able yank the facehugger away.

“Over there!” Derek yells at Allison.

“Yeah! Do it!” She screams back.

Harris and Derek toss the creature toward a far wall. Allison's fire vaporizes it. Derek holds Stiles as the young man drags in pained gulps of air. Kira flies into Stiles' embrace and long arms tighten around her. Stiles is grateful beyond measure that he's still just himself.

Harris is looking down at them with a glad expression on his face and Allison is leaning back, relieved. Until Stiles croaks out, “It ... Peter. It was Peter.”

Derek gapes at the young man but he knows, somehow, that Stiles' isn't lying. He calls out to Jackson – he needs to find his uncle and fast. When no response is forthcoming, the entire group turns and what they see makes their blood ice over. Derek is suddenly tearing away from Stiles and scrambling to his fellow soldier's side.

“JAX!”

Stiles feels tears running down his face as he moves to join Derek, handing Kira off to Allison. The emotion-prone private lies limp and motionless on the floor. There were three, apparently. Three of the nightmares and Jackson couldn't avoid the third one. Derek looks at his rifle and sees the counter at zero.

“Oh you stupid fuck,” Derek moans. He doesn't have to look at the shredded facehugger and blasted wall to know Jackson emptied his clip into the thing trying to reach Kira. Emptied his clip and left himself defenseless when this thing attacked.

It sits, pulsing obscenely on his face. The tail is tight around his neck and Stiles can see Jackson's chest rising and falling. Jackson is being implanted with an egg. An egg that will grow into one of the aliens. An egg that will hatch darkness and kill Jackson with its birth.

“Derek ... oh god ... I'm so sorry,” Stiles mutters.

For a long time, the only sound in the medlab is the dripping of water and the muffled tears of a Marine hugging his friend and sometimes-lover to him. Then Derek looks up and growls, “Where's that son-of-a-bitch uncle of mine?”


	11. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaack! The way the aliens treat Jackson in this chapter is taken from Ripley's encounter in Alien 3 where it sensed she had an embryo.

Jackson stares at Peter Hale; gun clenched in his tremoring hands. His face is pale as snow with dark bruises around his neck and purple half-moons under his eyes. He presses the muzzle of his rifle against Peter's jaw and relishes the man's wince.

“I say we grease this rat-fuck son-of-a-bitch right now,” Jackson growls.

Derek grips Jackson's shoulder tightly and moves him off Peter. He paces, unsettled and angry beyond anything he's ever felt for his self-centered uncle.

“It doesn't make any sense,” Derek mutters.

Stiles snorts. “Yeah it does. He figured he could get an alien back through quarantine if one of us was impregnated.” He looks over at Jackson and colors. “Whatever you want to call it ... then frozen for the trip home. Figured no one would know, huh, Peter? About the embryos we were carrying? Me and Kit-Kat?”

Derek frowns. “Wait a sec, we'd all know.”

Stiles doesn't look away from Peter. “Sure you would. But I'm pretty sure he'd make sure certain freezers were sabotaged on the way home. Namely you guys. He'd jettison the bodies and make up any story he liked.”

Jackson's lip curls. “Oh whatever comes outta me, dude, I am gonna shove straight down your throat before I buy it.”

Peter sighs dramatically. “This is insane. Listen to what your little boy-toy is _saying_ , Derek. It's paranoid delusion at its finest! It's sad and pathetic!”

“You know, Peter,” Stiles says coldly. “I don't know which species is worse. You don't see _them_ fucking each other over for a fucking percentage.”

Derek looks to the ceiling as if the answer were written there. He is trapped with a handful of survivors in a building overrun with God knew what and he was probably going to die a very ugly death. He's managed to fall for the one man who'd somehow survived just _one_ of these things and is going to lose another man – one he's shared a bed with more than once – because he's carrying around the _baby_ version of the fuckers. How is this his life? Jackson shifts slightly, drawing Derek's attention. He takes in the pale skin, the haunted look and his decision is made.

“Alright. Sorry uncle, but we're gonna waste you. No offense.”

Stiles grabs Derek's arm. “No, wait --!”

His voice dies when the room falls into darkness and then the soft red glow of emergency lighting. Stiles swallows.

“They cut the power,” he whispers.

“ _They_ cut the power?” Jackson protests. “How the hell could _they_ cut the power? They're animals.”

Derek spins Jackson around and pushes him toward Allison. “I want you two checking the corridors with trackers! Harris, keep an eye on Peter!”

Jackson and Allison move out as Stiles hooks up his comlink. “Kit-Kat, stay close!”

Out in the hallway, Jackson moves to the left and Allison to the right. He watches his monitor closely, listening to the steady pop of an empty hallway. His chest feels tight but he ignores it. He knows he's going to die and that thought suddenly calms him. There is nothing these fuckers can do to him that isn't already done ... Jackson frowns when he sees several small dots appear on his monitor.

“I've got movement,” Jackson announces. “Inside the complex.”

“You're just reading me,” Allison says wearily.

Jackson spins, waving his tracker in the other Marine's direction. “No ... no it ain't you. They're inside – inside the perimeter.”

Stiles frowns. “Allison, what are you showing?”

Allison stares at her tracker screen and watches as she moves closer to Jackson and several red dots appear. She sighs.

“Jackson may be right.”

* * *

Derek checks his weapon even as Stiles recalls his team. He makes a mental note that the kid has definite leadership capabilities. Jackson speaks again but he sounds confused.

“I don't get this ... something's weird with the signal. It's like – it's like there's movement all over the place!”

“Get back to operations, you two. It's game time,” Derek orders.

Derek meets them at the door. He and Jackson slide the heavy metal panels together and Derek holds them while Allison breaks out her welder.

“Work fast, Ally,” Derek says.

Allison doesn't waste time in response; she just starts making a quick line up the seam of the doors. Jackson looks down at his screen, studying the readouts with a trained eye. Stiles notices the hands aren't trembling anymore and Jackson's voice sounds firm and confident.

“Ok, we got movement. The signal is clean. Range: 20 meters.”

Stiles holds his rifle tightly and frowns. “They found a way in ... something we missed.”

Derek, face turned to avoid spatter from the welding and the arc, shakes his head. “We didn't miss anything.”

Jackson reads off calmly. “Eighteen ... seventeen meters.”

Stiles looks down at his own tracker screen. “Something under the floor? Not on the plans? I don't know ...”

“Stiles ...” Kit-Kat says worriedly.

“Fifteen meters.”

“Definitely inside the barricades,” Derek announces.

Kira tugs on Stiles' arm. “Let's _go_ ...”

“Thirteen meters.”

Stiles looks up, raising his rifle. “That's right outside the door! Derek, Allison, get back!”

Jackson shakes his head in disbelief. “This is a fucking big signal, Derek ... twelve meters ... eleven.”

Derek and Allison finish the weld and run back to join the others at the rear of the room, weapons ready for the assault. Harris' attention is focused on the door so he doesn't notice Peter making his way back to a door on the far side.

“Ten meters,” Jackson reads. “Nine ...”

“They're right on us!” Allison snaps.

“Remember,” Derek orders. “Short controlled bursts!”

“Eight meters ... seven ... _six_ ...”

Stiles' eyes dart to Jackson's readout. “That's gotta be wrong, that's inside the room!”

“It's reading right, kid, look!”

Derek growls. “Then _you're_ not reading it right!”

Stiles grunts in frustration and pulls up his own tracker. What he sees mimics Jackson's screen.

“Five meters ... four ... what the fuck?”

Stiles' brain is trying to make sense when suddenly it hits on the only thing it can be – he tilts his head back with the tracker pointed up at the ceiling.

“Sweet mother of God,” Jackson breathes as he realizes the young man is dead on.

Derek grabs the light from Stiles and climbs on a cabinet. Using his rifle, he gently pushes one of the tiles up so he can peer into the dropped ceiling's crawlspace. Turning his head slowly around, Derek comes face to face with a nightmare. Clinging to the rafters and moving steadily toward them is an entire army of the extraterrestrial horrors. With a shout, Derek lets gravity take him down as he fires up into the space. Dead aliens crash through the ceiling, followed by others not so dead.

Firing like mad, the group tries desperately for a stand. Stiles replays the blueprints in his head and realizes they might have a slight chance if they move now.

“Get to medical! Medical! Do it now!” Stiles shouts, pulling Kira along with him.

An alien drops down in front of Stiles and Kira. Stiles fumbles with the rifle, his movements growing more and more frantic until he finally remembers the switch Derek warned him about. Clicking that, he shouts at the explosion of fire and the screech of a dead beast. Grabbing Kira again, he rounds the corner and heads for the door when he sees Peter duck through.

“Peter!” Stiles shouts as he hits a very locked door.

He turns and presses his back to the door. They are very fucked.

* * *

Derek moves without much thought. He can barely track the movement of the aliens as they pour from the ceiling or race across the room. All he can do is hope his gunfire finds them. Jackson moves along beside and slightly behind him. The private is as focused as Derek’s ever seen him. He can’t even recognize the terrified young man from only hours ago – he supposes knowing you’re a dead man walking will burn off fear of death. He yells for his team to fall back to Medical. They have no choice and little hope but he knows this group is going to go down fighting.

Jackson pushes Derek behind him and Derek grabs Allison to drag her along. Jackson keeps up a steady volley as they move toward the door.

“Jackson! Come on!” Derek screams.

Jackson doesn’t hear or ignores his commanding officer. He keeps shooting until limbs not from any human erupt from the floor. He screams and shoots downward but they just keep coming … until they don’t. Stunned disbelief colors the Marine’s face as he finds himself looking into a tooth-filled maw of something straight out of Hell. But it only hisses at him and a unnaturally jointed hand runs over his midsection. Jackson looks down and then back up at the beast. Behind him, the group is screaming for him to join them as they finally cut through the door Peter locked. He grins knowingly.

“Yeah, that’s right, asshole. I’m a fucking mommy now … not gonna chance losing one of your little beauties, are you? Too bad for you,” Jackson growls, firing directly into the alien as he jogs backwards. It dies and the others hesitate to surge forward. He dives through the door and helps the group pull it shut. Allison starts welding.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Derek asks.

“I’m pregnant, remember? They won’t hurt me,” Jackson explains.

Derek presses a sweaty hand to Jackson’s equally sweaty face. “Only you, Jax. Only you could manage to charm something that looks straight out of Lovecraft.”

“It’s a gift,” Jackson replies. “Means I need to bring up the rear. Hopefully that’ll hold ‘em back enough to let you guys go through.”

Derek looks helplessly at his friend. “Jax …”

“I can feel it, Derek … like something is sitting on my chest. It won’t be long so you gotta use me like I’m not going to make it. Because I’m not.”

Derek grips Jackson’s neck tightly and jerks him forward into a hard kiss. It’s been a while since they shared a bed, but God knows they were good at it when they did.

“Whatever you’re gonna do,” Allison snaps. “I’d stop tongue-fucking and _do it_!”

“Stiles! This way!” Kira says, jerking open a duct panel.

_Of course,_ Stiles thinks. _She survived out here all that time because she knew how to travel out of sight. How to hide._

“Come on!” Stiles yells, peering into the duct. He’s grateful he’s not _too_ claustrophobic. He can’t imagine a worse place to get stuck. He looks back and meets Derek’s eyes before disappearing into the tight space. He doesn’t begrudge either man the kiss he just witnessed – Jackson is going to die and no two ways about it. Hell, if they had time for a quick fuck he’d give his blessing to them. Instead, Stiles just nods to the green-eyed Marine. Derek follows him after a fashion with Harris, Allison and Jackson behind.

“Kit-Kat, which way to the landing field from here?” Stiles asks.

“This way!” the little girl announces, running alongside Stiles with her head only slightly ducked.

They quickly come to an intersection and Kira yells, “Go right!”

Stiles finds himself following the shouted directions without hesitation. He has no idea where he is in relation to the rest of the station. If anything happens to Kira, he’ll never find his way out. It makes him admire her more because for several weeks she’s been traveling the complex in this maze, avoiding the things that destroyed everyone else. She’s a tough little girl and he knows he’s going to do everything he can to get her home safely. He just hopes he succeeds.


End file.
